Haunted
by twriter12
Summary: Rick is struggling to keep it together when the group arrives at Alexandria Safe-Zone only to find himself reunited with a past from which he never recovered. Now he must cope with the past in order to ensure a future for his people and the community.
1. The End of the F'king World

This barn smelled like shit but they were safe from the elements and the walkers, not to mention it would buy them a little time to rest and maybe even get their bearings long enough to come up with a plan. The one thing Rick knew — and he didn't know much these days — was that they couldn't stay. The space was too small and there was no privacy for fourteen people. Made of rickety wood, it barely withstood the previous night's storm and the comfort the sparse hay provided for one night would soon disappear. Trees surrounded the barn, obstructing the sight lines which would prevent them from seeing an attack, not to mention they weren't near a water source. Since their vehicles ran out of gas they walked for miles without a house, store, or any structure in sight. He figured they made it eight short but arduous miles before the storm forced them off the road. Along the way was a futile search for food and water. They were desperate — you would have to be to do the things they did to survive, namely eating dogs.

The long walk gave him nothing but time because no one wanted to talk when it took almost all the energy they had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Instead of using that silence for something useful, he doubted his past decisions and, neurotically enough, even began doubting his future ones. Not even after the farm fell when he didn't know what to do other than keep the group together did he feel this lost. He led this group to Virginia for nothing more than a pipe dream because getting Noah home was for Beth, the last thing anyone could ever do for her. And who knew, maybe it could have been for them too. Maybe by some stroke of luck, he told himself as they traveled from Georgia, it would still be standing. It wasn't and, though he had no right, he found himself slightly disappointed. During their slow journey to a destination unknown, he realized he had to stop holding out for hope. There was no safe place. There was no happy ending. Just safe enough. Happy enough. It was all momentary and spurious.

He had to table his hopelessness, his doubts, his feelings of inadequacy — none of that mattered because everyone in that barn looked to him for answers. He wasn't sure why. They suffered so many setbacks with him at the helm but they still saw him as the leader. That meant he needed to come up with a plan to save fourteen lives and he had nothing. What a shit show to have on your conscience. Maybe that's why they looked to him. Who wanted that responsibility on their shoulders?

The barn door opened with a squeak of the rusted hinges. It seemed loud against the silent backdrop of the barn.

"Everybody, this is Aaron," Maggie's voice rang out.

Immediately they went from enervated, barely able to hold their heads up, to on their feet ready for whatever danger was about to rain down on them. Fear brings on an adrenaline rush rivaled by no other feeling. Daryl looked outside the barn. Rosita, Carol, and Abraham had their guns aimed and with those three he knew it was center mass. This stranger, Aaron, was about 6'1", brown hair, average build. The world going to shit didn't mean he stopped profiling — that initial snapshot of a person cataloged in his head for future reference. Just like in the past, everyone was a threat until they weren't. None of that presumption of innocence shit because hesitation could mean death. Who he was and what he did in the past served him well now, forever ingrained in him.

Daryl patted this guy down like he was the sheriff's deputy in the previous life instead of whatever he was. He never discussed his previous life but Rick took him for one of the shiftless types who was born and died in their hometowns and never did much in between. It didn't make him good or bad, just one of those guys with little going for him and even less self-esteem under the rough exterior. All he needed was the positive influence he never had growing up.

"I already did that," Sasha said.

Rick could tell the assumption she and Maggie didn't know what they were doing annoyed her. No one thought that to be true. The women in the group were just as capable as the men — and sometimes they were the only reason this group was still together and alive. If there were weak links in this group, an adversary was best not to assume it was a woman. Eugene and Gabriel were their underbellies.

"He's by himself," Maggie said. "We took his weapons, and we took his gear."

"Whatcha bring him back here for?" Daryl said.

"Sasha and I didn't see him," Maggie said. "If he wanted to hurt us, he could have." She had the patience Sasha didn't. Sasha suffered no fools and made sure you knew it. He liked that about her. You always knew where you stood with her. She was smart and quick — mentally and physically.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Rick asked as he took a few steps forward.

"He has a camp nearby," Sasha said then cut her eyes at the stranger. "He says he wants us to audition."

"It sounds weird, I know," Aaron said. "I wish there was another way to put it."

His hands fell slightly until he saw Rick grip his gun tighter, then he raised them even higher than they were before. He wasn't stupid. Far from it, so what was his angle?

"Sasha," Aaron said. "Will you hand Rick my pack?"

As Rick went through the contents of the pack — a bottle of water, a map, notebook, pens, trail mix — Aaron went on and on about community and safety. The more he talked, the more it sounded like insufferable bullshit and frankly, it pissed Rick off. This guy was insulting his intelligence with this dream world. They barely made it out of Terminus alive; there was no way he'd allow his people to end up in another trap. And he sure as hell wouldn't willingly walk through another set of gates.

Rick surveyed the group as Aaron rambled on about 15-foot steel beamed walls and people being the most vital resource. It was an illusion that anyone was safe these days. You lived until you come across the danger — the living and dead. His group had to know this wasn't a reality, just foolish ideas with a short life and deadly end. But as they passed around the pictures of the community, he could see the glimmer of hope in their eyes and that caused a rage to build in the pit of his stomach for this stranger. Hope was one hell of a drug. Addictive. Each time a poor fool with hope lost the high they always searched for their next hit. The fall was always lower and more painful each time you lost what you thought would be your home for the rest of your life and it was harder to rise back from that loss.

Rick walked over and landed a solid blow to Aaron's jaw. He tried to put his fist through this guy's face but he would have to settle for knocking him out cold. Aaron hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and no one flinched. Secretly he knew Daryl and Carol agreed with him, Sasha too. They were the most pragmatic about what life was and what it could be after Terminus and what happened at the church.

* * *

"Almost there," Scott said from behind the steering wheel.

Michonne looked up from the back seat and saw the street sign signaling they were twenty miles from Alexandria. This run took them fifty miles out, farther than they had ever been but it was necessary. They had scoured everything near the community and supplies were getting more scarce. It was hard to find something already built, ready for use, or ready to eat. While their pantry was stocked, the concern was always food. The plan was to never be complacent because it wouldn't take long for plenty of food to turn into barely enough.

"This was a good haul," Heath said from the front passenger seat. "And bringing back all those seeds can't hurt."

"Does anyone know how to farm?" Scott asked.

"How hard could it be?" Heath shrugged. "Drop a few seeds, water, and wait for everything to grow, right?"

Hell if she knew, but that made her wonder about other amenities. Like what would happen when they ran out of toilet paper, toothpaste, and soap. They didn't know how to make those things. They needed to think about it; they needed to come up with a plan. Alexandria worked because the residents were fed and comfortable. It was easy to stay in line when life was as good as it gets these days. Once that was no longer the case there would be division and chaos. It happened in every society across the globe from the beginning of time. These days would be no different.

"Maybe the others will find something when they go out," Scott said.

She rolled her eyes. He was always the optimist, but they knew it wouldn't happen. There were two scavenger crews. The groups never went out at the same time. Michonne, Heath, and Scott were A team. They were a well-oiled machine and wanted no additional members. Meanwhile, the B team, led by Aiden, constantly replaced members. Mostly because their people died. The only person Aiden worked well with was Nicholas. Aiden actually thought his time in ROTC meant something. When it came to Aiden, ROTC was nothing more than a way for a privileged kid to gain patriotism points for his future political career. Aiden's team was okay — they always brought back decent stuff — but nothing compared to her team.

"I bet there are all kinds of things in D.C.," Scott said.

"Yeah, like the dead," Heath said.

Since it was less than ten miles from home, they tried D.C. once but it was dead on top of the dead. No doubt there was a lot of useful things in the city but the dead was like a mindless security force keeping people away which made those supplies useless. And it was even more useless to think about it. Densely populated areas had to be the worst place to survive. Unfortunately for her, she moved to D.C. just before the outbreak. Talk about timing. She wondered what it was like back home. It only took the end of the world for her to appreciate small town living.

"All we need to do is find the entry point. Find a back road, an area that's not congested," Scott said.

Heath snorted. "Have you ever been to D.C.?"

* * *

It wasn't his call; the group outvoted Rick. Honestly, it was shocking. He wasn't a dictator, not anymore, but he thought he made a good case for not trusting this guy. Not after Terminus. He didn't think they would ever get over that betrayal. For every dangerous stranger he reminded them of, they countered with stories of how they all came to be. How they were standing as one because they trusted a girl who rolled up to the prison gates with The Governor, saved a priest who turned his back on his people and protected a man who lied about having the cure. Not only does hope make you stupid, but apparently it caused bad decisions too.

So they packed the few belongings they had — mostly guns — and headed in a direction they didn't know trusting a stranger to deliver them to what could easily be a trap. Rick stopped believing in Santa and the Easter bunny when he was eight years old and he sure as hell didn't believe in good fortunes he didn't make for himself. Not in the old world and not in this new screwed up one. They were back to the days of survival of the fittest, not survival of the luckiest. There were no societal safety nets. It was eat what you kill — literally.

The others wanted to believe. Aaron said all the right things that made them forget everything that kept them alive. And they did it for a chance, just a chance at something better. This guy who came up to fourteen strangers and allowed them to strip him of his weapon and held prisoner. All throughout he smiled and sweet-talked like a salesman with barely a hitch in his voice. He was way too sure of himself despite the situation he was in. It made Rick think maybe this Aaron guy was more dangerous than anyone knew. His behavior was the action of a madman, maybe even a sociopath, definitely not a friend. How Aaron presented himself — those kinds of people didn't live in this world anymore. Altruism was dead. What Aaron had — his community — was something people killed to defend and killed to take, not something you gave away.

The entire trip Rick became antsier with each passing mile. He wished Aaron would show his hand sooner than later so he could put a knife to the base of his skull and go back to looking for a realistic place to settle down and make their own. They lost so much in such a quick amount of time: the prison, Hershel, Terminus, Beth, Bob, and Tyreese. The losses were never-ending and now life was about waiting for the next loss. He understood they needed a win. He needed a win for his boy but this wasn't it.

When the RV broke down, it felt like another warning sign this was the wrong move and they were ignoring them. While Glenn and Abraham worked on getting them back on the road he got out of the car and took a walk to put a little distance between himself and the group. He needed solitude. He needed to think. It might be his last chance before whatever was about to happen and he needed to prepare himself mentally for this fight. Since he woke up in that hospital it was a journey of broken dreams — the CDC, Fort Benning, a cure in Washington, and getting Noah to his family. He knew this would be another.

His solitude was short-lived as he watched Carl headed his way. They were across the road from the others and the RV, just past a curve in the road. It was an amazing view of what used to be Washington, D.C. This area made this country go, hell, it was, in many ways, the center of the world. And it's possible that all that power and knowledge meant nothing and it was gone just like the rest of the country they've seen with their own eyes.

"See right there," Rick pointed at the obelisk in the distance. "That's the Washington Monument. I always dreamed of bringing you here."

He almost wished he had a camera because this was one of those times when the beauty of the land, more than anything, reminded him of what they were missing. But pictures, they didn't matter anymore. Now life changed before you had time to develop the film. Those pictures Aaron showed them, he wondered if they represented this future home. When did he take those pictures? How much had changed? He thought about the things the pictures didn't show. Fuck the walls and gates, the key to any camp's survival was always the people. Were there enough of the strong to keep in check the weakest links in their chain — the assholes, the scared, the angry, the dangerous?

"Dad, it's gonna be okay," Carl said as he put his hand on his father's shoulder. "I got a good feeling about this."

He turned to look at his son knowing when this didn't work out, and he knew it wouldn't, that his son would once again bounce back. He had done it so many times, better than any of the adults did. Better than Rick. Because Rick saw the losses as personal failures. And each failure hurt because it meant he hadn't protected his son. There was no pain greater than being a father disappointing his son. Seeing that disappointment in his son's eyes when he lost faith in him back in the prison was a rejection he almost didn't recover from.

"Why?"

"I mean, where else are we gonna go?" Carl smiled.

"I don't know. Somewhere safe." Rick looked over at him.

"You mean somewhere away from people," Carl said, the disappointment dripping from each word.

Rick shook his head and shrugged. "People are dangerous. _This_ is dangerous."

"Being alone out here is pretty dangerous, dad. I mean, Aaron was right; people are the best resource. It's safer with more people. And we have to try. Try to make things like they used to be. It can't be a fight all the time because eventually, we'll be fighting ourselves. Who we are. What we believe in. It'll make us what we're not. That's what you tried to teach me back at the prison."

Rick gripped the back of his son's neck marveling at his insight in this screwed up world. All he wanted in life was to be a good dad, love his boy, keep him safe, and give him some guidance so he could make his way in the world just like his father did for him. That was the one thing that didn't change when the world did. Though he constantly felt like he wasn't successful, somewhere along the way his boy became a man.

"When did you get so smart?"

Carl smiled. "When I started listening to you."

* * *

"Home sweet home," Michonne muttered when they pulled up to the gates, or whatever Alexandria was. After two weeks on a run, she was ready to be back without her head on a swivel and sleeping more than twenty minutes at a time. No matter what, there was no deep sleep while out there. Every sound, every leaf was loud in her ear.

She frowned as they waited for the gate to open. Scott honked the horn twice before Heath climbed out and went to the gate. She leaned her head out of the window trying to hear what was going on. When the green privacy screen opened, she sat up at attention. Whoever was manning the gate was new. And not new to gate duty, new to the community and that was unsettling.

She and Scott joined Heath and this stranger. Michonne looked him up and down as Heath talked to him. He was a weird guy with a fucking mullet and a monotone voice. It wasn't just the sound of his voice but the way he talked that was off-putting.

"Hi, I'm Scott." He offered his hand but Eugene didn't shake it. He didn't even look at it.

"Eugene Porter," he said. "I led my group here from Georgia."

She couldn't imagine him being the leader of anything, especially not people, not if they were semi-competent. His value had to be his brain. She wasn't knocking him, Alexandria was full of those types. People were who they were and as long as they got no one killed, she didn't really care. This world brought out the best in some, the worst in others, and the truth in all of them.

"How many of there are you?" Michonne asked.

"Fifteen. I mean fourteen."

"I'll take this load to the pantry," she said as she looked at Heath.

"I'm with you." Scott nodded and climbed back into the driver's seat.

"I'll get the gate and meet you guys over there," Heath said.

Olivia ran the pantry. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone when Michonne and Scott arrived. A few women Michonne called desperate housewives, even the single ones, clucked away. As physically draining and dangerous as the outside world could be, this is why she sometimes preferred it to being inside the walls.

When life as they knew it stopped, it was amazing the things it reduced people to care about. The same people — the ones who never stepped outside the gates — talked about the silly things like their cell phone batteries, book clubs, or wanting kitchen gadgets. Luckily, most of them knew not to talk to her about such things but they said it so much everyone knew. She supposed there were plenty of people out there fighting to survive who would be grateful for such trivial matters.

Nothing happened around here. Not that she was looking for action within the walls, she got her fill during the runs but she was on the go in her previous life — always needing something to do, somewhere to go. She thought the only way she would slow down was if the universe forced her. But it forced her into eternal stillness and she defied the universe. She couldn't do it. She wasn't meant to be still.

* * *

They pulled up outside the gates; the RV, driven by Abraham, right behind them. Rick took stock of the area — looking left and right, inspecting the gate as much as he could from the car. It was eerily still outside the gate. Desolate. No walkers. A burned down home sat to their right. Like Aaron said, the walls were tall but he couldn't speak for how indestructible they were just yet. At that moment he sat gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white while fear traveled down his spine. Was it the right call to bring his son to this place? Should he have demanded they turn down Aaron's offer? Just as he was about to voice his concerns he felt the tightness in face give when he heard children laughing. He hadn't heard that since the prison. They were so innocent; they didn't know there was nothing to be happy about.

"Ready, Dad?"

He looked at Carl smiling in the passenger seat as he looked at him. He could see the hope on Carl's face. He was practically begging Rick to be okay with this, to not ruin this opportunity. When did his son become the patient nurturer making sure he was okay? That wasn't his job. There was a time when all he wanted was for Carl to be a kid, but those days were long gone. And, if he were honest with himself, Carl had to grow up long before the dead walked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready," he said as he placed the car in park and turned off the ignition just as the others, led by Aaron, walked past the car and up to the gate.

As the gate opened a metal trash bin turned over, and they all pointed their guns at it as Daryl killed the possum that appeared.

"We brought dinner," Daryl said as he held up his fresh kill for the man to see.

Brown curly hair. Suspicious. Shifty eyes. Nervous. He looked scared. He was a weak link in any chain he was part of.

Rick smirked at the look on the man's face — stunned and disgusted by Daryl's actions. He imagined their rough appearance had to be a shocking sight to people who slept comfortably under a roof each night. Confusion was a good thing — it caused a slight hesitation which was all Rick's group needed to get the upper hand.

They were inside the gate, but Rick still wasn't sure they would stay. He wasn't comfortable giving over control to people who were stupid enough to invite a large group of well-armed strangers into their community. What went on in the barn was hardly a vetting session. Aaron knew nothing about them. He wasn't at that church; he didn't know about Terminus, or what Rick did to Joe. This wasn't only dangerous for Rick and his group, it was dangerous for this community. Their startling lack of security measures was suicidal. As that gate closed behind them, he could feel the tightening in his chest and for the first time, the others seemed to be just as uncomfortable.

"Before we take this any further," said the gatekeeper, "if you're staying, I need you to turn over all your weapons. Those are the rules."

"We don't know if we're staying," Rick barked at him. "If we wanted to use them you'd be dead already."

"It's okay Nicholas," Aaron said with a stutter. "Let them talk to Deanna first." He turned to Rick. "She's the leader and can tell you everything you need to know about this place. Why don't you talk to her first, Rick?"

Rick nodded. Yeah, too stupid to be in charge of his people. One challenge from Rick and they were changing the steadfast rules of their safe community. There was no way he would follow these people even if they stayed.

He turned to survey his people and saw a lone walker about twenty yards away headed toward the gate. "Sasha." He nodded behind her. She turned. Aimed. Fired. Headshot and it was down. He chuckled at the awestruck faces of Aaron and Nicholas. That was nothing for Sasha. They should have seen her on the rooftop of that parking garage back in Atlanta. "It's a good thing we're here," Rick said as he walked behind Aaron.

This community was clean. The homes were like mansions. There wasn't a single errant piece of paper on the ground. The grass was neat, and the flowers were blooming in flowerbeds. This was the type of place that the sheriff's office rarely patrolled back in King County. The broken window theory stated if you kept the windows intact you kept society intact. But even though he believed in it, the theory had holes — pretty packages sometimes hid dirty things. And that was most dangerous because you weren't looking for it.

* * *

She made it home and tossed her gear on the floor in the small entryway of the townhouse. Unpacking would come later, it would take a while to sort through muddy and possibly bug-infested belongings. For now, it was time for a long, hot shower. While out on the run she craved a shower more than food. Two weeks worth of whore's baths was two weeks too many. They had to drive with the windows down just to survive their stench. Basic survival was disgusting.

But showers always made a hard day better whether covered in the blood of the dead or trying to soothe an aching back due to manual labor she never did in her previous life. Someone delivered her groceries, and she had a weekly maid service mostly due to a lack of time, but she always had an aversion to such tasks. Hell, she didn't wash her car. She held her head down and placed her hands on the gray tile shower wall as she watched the sand and grime slide off her body and swirl down the drain taking all the bad moments out there with it. Funny how near-death experiences rolled off you quickly. At first, they stayed with her but now it was just another day in this nightmarish life. On this run alone they almost died tripping over half-buried biters, barely escaped a horde, and outwitted a group whose intentions were unknown until it was too late.

Once out of the shower she stood in front of the mirror, naked and dripping, staring at her body. She was always physically fit but now her body bordered on sinewy. She figured she'd lost somewhere between ten and fifteen pounds, and for someone with a petite frame, that was significant. But she liked it, especially being able to see her abs. Her love of pasta had made that impossible but this forced minimalist diet changed that. She turned, taking in her hips and butt, which was still there. Even her shoulders and arms looked better.

"All this," she muttered, "and no one to appreciate it." She held her breasts in her hands.

There were basic needs like food, water, and shelter but the human needs didn't end there. A long time passed without having to deal with sexual urges — running for her life did that. But she had been in Alexandria for four months — and time moved in dog years inside these gates — so her dreams often drifted to sex.

She sat on the edge of the bed and slowly her body came back to life as she rubbed lotion on her skin, giving her legs a deep massage along the way from her ankles up to her thighs. She closed her eyes and thought about the deep tissue massage back at the spa. Her self-massage felt good but nothing compared to relaxing as the touch of someone else's strong hands manipulated her tense flesh.

She slid on a pair of underwear — pale yellow silk instead of the functional cotton she wore while out on the run — and slipped on her long blue silk robe. She loved clothes. For a moment, she allowed herself to grieve the wardrobe she lost. Was it still sitting in her D.C. apartment? Was it used as a change of fresh, clean clothes? Or for something more functional? She cringed at the thought of her red Badgley Mischka evening gown being ripped to shreds and used as a tourniquet. Was someone living in her apartment? Hell, if that were the case she'd be pissed because that meant she could have stayed there herself. But she fled D.C. because it was chaos. She'd seen nothing like it. The living were as savage as the dead. She once watched a man kill a woman because he thought she was a biter — turned out she had a limp because she hurt her leg. Getting as far away from irrational people seemed to be the only hope of survival back then.

As she walked down the stairs, there was a knock on the door. Through a window on the side of the door, she saw a tall frame. It was Spencer or Tobin. But he was wiry so that meant Spencer. She opened the door and stared at him, waiting to see what could be so important to knock on her door an hour after her return.

"Just out of the shower, huh?"

She tracked his eyes to the top of her head. Her hair still wrapped in a white towel. "Just back from a two-week run."

Spencer smiled. "The lovebirds found new people," he said as he offered her a laptop. "Mom wants you to watch their interviews."

Deanna's youngest son was nice enough. She preferred him to his brother, Aiden, who was the definition of a douche bag. The one thing about Aiden she appreciated was he knew that about himself. Spencer had zero personality. It was hard to be offensive when you molded to your surroundings. Whoever he was around that's who he became. Malleable. That was just a nice way of saying the kid had no spine. Deanna and Reg Monroe were nice people, but they didn't do so well at raising sons.

"Thanks." No rest for the weary. She sighed. "How many?"

"A lot. Like twelve or fifteen."

She frowned. "Were they all together or did they find different groups?"

"I think they were all together. Hey, how about I cook you dinner? You've been out on that run. I'm sure the last thing you feel like doing is cooking. I'm making my famous beef jerky Stroganoff. It's not Sole Meunière, but it's good," he said with a smile.

She smiled. "What do you know about Sole Meunière?"

"I love French cuisine."

"Best place in D.C.?"

He leaned against the door frame. Languid. Smiling. "Le Diplomate."

She shook her head. "Not bad but Marcel's definitely."

Spencer was one of the few bachelors. She imagined it was difficult for him being a fit, handsome — albeit generically so — guy. The women were older, married, or lesbian. She was definitely up for food she didn't have to prepare but accepting his invitation was not a good idea. You had to be careful in navigating the landscape of men. Smile, but not too much. Eye contact but not too long or else the man misreads politeness for sexual interest and then she would have to turn him down. This seven-block world was too damn small for fractured male egos and burnt bridges.

She watched him descend the stairs and thought 'what if' then quickly shook the thought out of her head. Her instincts were right. There was nothing there, never could be, and there was no need to make trouble where there was none. Spencer was probably a clinger. He definitely couldn't keep up with her. She had a personality and a certain set of skills that only a man could appreciate.

She closed the door and placed the laptop on the coffee table and watched as the monitor came to life. So Aaron brought back a group. More people. That was Deanna's dream — to rebuild civilization starting with Alexandria. It was smart but all she could think about was eventually having to share her place with someone. She was more than happy living alone in her townhouse. Not only was she used to it, but she preferred it. She had become accustomed to living alone since her divorce almost one year ago.

Start with the leader, Deanna scribbled on a yellow post-it. She shook her head. A post-it note. Office supplies, laptops, electricity — all the things that could make you believe life hadn't changed. If only for a few minutes it was easy to believe that. Especially at night in those nice, comfortable beds.

Deanna had a good feeling about this guy. She was so pie in the sky. She needed Michonne around to level out that optimism. Deanna still felt guilty about the three men Michonne convinced her to exile.

She pressed play, and a saw a man, back turned to the camera pacing back and forth in Deanna's living room like a caged animal checking out his new surroundings. Touching trinkets on the bookshelf, looking at book titles, touching the wall. He stood by the fireplace and looked out the window. His hand left a dirty print on Deanna's pristine wall. He was anxious, and that didn't sit well with Michonne. Was he planning something or was he so damaged from what he'd seen out there that he'd be a threat in here?

She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, remaining at the sink as she drank. She gazed out the window and did a double take. What had to be one of the new people was a priest — in his priest garb. "You've got to be shitting me," she said with a slight laugh. Who needed a priest? The world ended, and they were already in hell. They didn't need his services; fate had been decided.

"Hello, I'm Deanna Monroe." She heard the sounds from the video.

"Rick Grimes."

She dropped the glass in the sink, shards of glass flying as it broke into countless pieces. She ran back over to the laptop sliding and almost fell on her ass on the way. Did she hear what she thought she heard? Could it be? There was no way it was possible. She leaned close to the laptop and stared, waiting for the man to appear on screen again. It seemed to take forever for him to sit in that empty chair the camera focused on. She held her breath. The wild beard and long hair, the weeks of dirt coating his skin the color of rust but if she couldn't recognize him by anything else, it was those piercing blue eyes. She gasped as she studied him.

Staring into the camera, looking like something Michonne had never seen before was her ex-husband.


	2. The Good Place

**Author's Note** : _I can't tell you how much I've appreciated the support. Thank you._ _I could have posted this earlier but I had to sit with it a little because once it's posted, that's it. Can't totally rework a story like you can when writing a manuscript where you get to complete it, rewrite a couple of times, etc. I did end up making a change so I'm glad I waited. If I feel like I nailed what I wanted to write then I'll post sooner but this chapter was nagging me._

 _Also, I saw a guest review mention Capitol Affairs. I posted on Tumblr that I would be willing to write additional scenes based on reader prompts. So, for those who want more, it's up to you. Hit me up on Tumblr with your request. Yesterday I posted the only prompt I received._

* * *

While watching Rick's interview Michonne leaned forward so far she almost fell off the couch in a near catatonic state. When the video ended she slid back onto the couch, her hand over her mouth. Everything about Rick's interview shook her to her core. She went to the kitchen and put a few ice cubes in an Old Fashioned glass and grabbed the bottle of Buffalo Trace. This wasn't everyday alcohol, not even after a hard day's work; that was tequila, no matter how much she always regretted it after. This wasn't a sleep aid — that was a nice XO grade cognac. This did what the body couldn't do on it own — calm her down. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes waiting for the twitching of her right eye to stop, then poured a glass, drank it immediately, and filled her glass again. From across the room she eyed the laptop, keeping the distance between her and a lot of baggage.

That was not the man she fell in love with back in Georgia. That was not the man she married. This man was surly — sinister even, reminding her of the bad men lurking out there. It was like he was infected with a cancer ravaging his entire body, and it appeared terminal, seeping through his pores tainting everything about him. It wasn't only visible on his face — which was hardened — but in his voice which seemed more like a growl with every bitter word he hurled at Deanna. His words were a song of misery so unbearable it left a bitter taste in her own mouth. When he spoke it wasn't the sweet melodic drawl she couldn't get enough of, especially when he whispered in her ear. It was pain. And then she wondered if she played a part in that pain.

He was angry when she filed for divorce. Did that anger settle in him and become indelible, a chronic condition? Or was it a symptom of this new world? That would make sense, both reasons, actually. She knew well the pain this new world inflicted on a person because it changed her a few times over. It was a cycle that made her so dizzy she didn't know if she was coming or going. She was distant then trusted until the sting of betrayal made her a loner. She was savage for a while and always paranoid. That paranoia was why she was alone when Aaron and Eric found her and why she turned them down the first two times they invited her to join the community.

She walked over and pressed play on the video.

"People out there are always looking for an angle," Rick said. "Looking to play on your weakness. They measure you by what they can take from you. By how they can use you to live."

She shuddered at the sound of him. You take people for who and what they showed themselves to be and Rick showed himself to be a dangerous man in those thirty-seven minutes he talked with Deanna. Whether she caught on, he was warning Deanna who and what he was. Hiding in plain sight. Even at his calmest and quietest, his demeanor felt threatening. Had he been anyone else she would have run to Deanna immediately to demand she kick him out. For a moment, it made her question everything she thought she knew about Rick. And then she was mad at herself for going there. This wasn't just anyone; this was Rick, the only man she ever wanted to spend her life with.

The world couldn't have changed him that much. Despite his interview, he was not one of the countless jerks she'd met along the way who thought power and domination made them a man, worthy of respect. They didn't realize the feeling they garnered was fear. No matter how long it had been and what he had been through it wasn't fair to doubt him. But life was never fair, especially for her and Rick. Maybe this was a part of him pushed to the limit. What was once considered positive attributes, given the right situation and pressure, could now lead to bad intentions.

He was determined. Wanted what he wanted. He was passionate. And sometimes he staked a claim on a pedestal from which he judged her was so high sometimes she was surprised he got oxygen up there.

She thought back to one of his earlier comments. It hurt to hear him say who he was in the previous life didn't matter since it once meant everything to him. He loved being a sheriff's deputy. He loved being the good guy who helped everyone. The neighbor who always found the elderly widow's cat and mowed her lawn. More than anything he loved being a father. How had this new life, this new attitude, this new way of thinking affected him as a father? She fell in love with a man who was a fierce protector and a proud provider. Whatever he was — whatever she was seeing on the screen — it was because he thought it was what he had to be for Carl.

She paced back and forth, finger tapping the rim of her glass, eyes darting at the image of Rick after she paused the video again. "Who are you now? What happened?" She wanted to know everything.

* * *

Even though this place wouldn't work out, Rick was thankful for this moment. A shower with great water pressure and hot water with steam billowing around him was heaven on this doomed Earth. It didn't seem possible for people to live like this at the same time his people were wiping inmates' brains off the walls so they could sleep in prison cells. While they slept in abandoned cars and in the woods suffering in the elements — from torrential downpours to heat that made breathing feel like hot air burning your throat — these people were in climate-controlled homes and beds. Real beds. He stepped directly under the shower head feeling the water touch every part of him. Deanna was a shrewd woman, a politician, she screwed with people's heads and told them what they needed to hear for a living, and she didn't come close to putting his mind at ease and neither could this shower — no matter how damn good it felt.

Rick ran his hand across the steamed up mirror stunned by the man looking back at him. He was a stranger even to himself. This was what Carl saw when he looked at him, not the dad who helped coach his flag football team. It surprised him Carl wasn't afraid of the man he'd become, not just in appearance but actions. He never imagined he'd have to teach his son how to kill. Rick understood that's what this world required, but he couldn't accept it. Suddenly Rick heard a sobbing wail and looked around until he realized it was him. He cried because it didn't have to be this way had he not lost the farm or the prison. His son crossed the line of darkness and it was a burden Carl had yet to reckon with even if he came out on the other side. He cried for the man he no longer was, and the life his son could never have. He cried for the losses and the pain and the hard life and then he shook it off because that's what he had to do. He had no time for selfish feelings such as regret and grief.

It was a long time since last he shaved and it showed. He had a rough hand. A knock on the door as he ran the razor across his neck startled him and he nicked himself, the blood instantly appearing on his jawline. He put on his pants and went to grab his gun, only to be reminded Deanna didn't allow them to carry in the walls. He felt more naked without his gun than his clothes. Slowly he peered around the corner to see a woman standing at the door with a basket in her hands and a smile on her face.

"Hi. I'm Jessie. I work in the pantry. Deanna wanted me to bring things for you and your friends." She cocked her head to the side and looked him in the eyes as she held up the basket for him to take.

Hospitality in the new world. Neighbors dropping by with gift baskets like some HOA welcome committee. Just behind her was a woman walking a dog on a leash with a plastic bag in her other hand. He felt like he landed in the land of Oz or down that rabbit hole or something equally unbelievable. The sound of children laughing was still present even though he never saw them. Which made him think it could be a ruse, some recorded sounds to lure people in. Maybe they were in another Terminus. He shook his head slightly then realized she was still standing there watching him as he processed this fucked up shit in his head.

"I'm Rick. Thanks, we were just cleaning up."

"Yeah, I can see that," she said with that smile still on her face. "You got a little shaving cream on your cheek." She lifted her hand and for a moment he thought she would try to wipe it off but she pointed to the right side of his face.

He wiped his cheek against his shoulder. "Well, thanks," he said as he motioned with the basket.

"Hey, I…" she stopped, and he looked at her expectantly. "I can give you a haircut if you'd like. I was a stylist," she said as she rolled her eyes. "And a dozen other things to support us while my husband was in medical school."

He frowned. "You don't even know me," he said bewildered.

"I can take care of myself."

She couldn't. No weapon and she hadn't looked beyond him once to see what was going on in the house. She was an easy kill. Wouldn't even need a weapon, just a quick snap of the neck. Was it weird he planned out how to kill people based on weapons, the other person's skills, and situations? Honestly, it would be weird not to. He stepped aside and let her in. The smell of her perfume wafted through the air. He placed the basket on the kitchen counter and went to put on a shirt. By the time he returned, she had pulled out a chair from the dining room and waited with a smile. He tried to relax as she stood behind him with a sharp pair of scissors. A person needed no fighting skills or ruthless nature to jab someone in the jugular. She draped a towel around his shoulders and got to work.

"I have two sons. Ron is the oldest and Sam. Ron is your son's age. He really wants to meet your son if that's okay with you and…"

"It's just me." He held his head down.

"I'm sorry." She sounded like she meant it. How could there be sympathy for anyone in this world? Everyone saw someone die before their eyes. It was the way of the world. There was no way around it. To live was to see death played over and over.

"It was before," he said, not sure why he felt the need to clarify that. Both times, he said in his head. When people wondered about his significant other, they thought about his first wife because they were asking about Carl's mother, but no one knew he lost a second wife. As if people only had one love. He was fortunate to have two — maybe it was unfortunate because he lost them both for different reasons and he wasn't sure which hurt the most. "But uh, yeah, that… that'll be nice for Carl."

"Kids are always curious about the new kid in school. Some things never change."

"I never thought there would be school, electricity, hot showers, and haircuts." His eyes closed at the feel of her nails running across his scalp. It was amazing how little touches evoked such feelings. He hadn't felt a touch that wasn't violent in a long time.

"Well, haircuts were never going away." Her voice became gentle. "How long were you out there?"

"Since the beginning. How long have you been in here?"

"Since the beginning."

"You lived here before?"

"No, thank goodness." She laughed.

He turned his head slightly, confused by her answer. This seemed like a place a doctor and his wife would live. He and his first wife toured model homes similar to this one. He'd rub her pregnant belly telling her "one day" as she pointed out how she would put her own touches on their home.

"Not my style but definitely my husband's. A doctor at his hospital led us here."

He felt a single tear fall onto his pants; he was unsure of when he started feeling whatever brought tears.

"There," she said as she handed him a mirror. "Okay?" When he didn't respond she placed her hand on his shoulder. "I can imagine this isn't easy."

"It's… I'm okay."

"It's okay not to be. I can't imagine what it's like after all that time out there to come in here and see this. It has to feel like…"

She had no idea what it was like out there and what it was like to see this after all that time. How it felt to be covered in blood. To be afraid of yourself. To not know yourself because you never knew you could be a person who committed premeditated murder. Numerous ones and then sleep better than you had before you took those lives. Then after all that, come to a place where they walked dogs on leashes, gave welcome baskets, and haircuts.

"Like the roller coaster ride is over but you can't let go of the grip you have on the bar."

She confused him with how she came up with that despite having never lived it. Everyone else was always telling him to get it together, but it was hard and he kept it together for short periods of time — just long enough to hide the dark thoughts like how he didn't like himself.

"My mom always told me 'Feel your feelings, Jess. Don't wallow in them, but feel them.' So, it'll take time but you'll get there. I know it."

"How do you know?"

"You made it here."

* * *

Tears pooled in Michonne's eyes making the vision of Carl a blurry one. His hair was longer and his eyes more like his father's. He was a young man now. She hadn't seen him in a year and if the world was how it used to be there would be no doubt, he was still that sweet little boy. However, what used to be was no more. So without knowing how, she knew the new world changed him. It was still there, that sweet demeanor, but there was more to him. Sitting there with Deanna was a kid who had seen a lot and done a lot. Surely, much of it brutal. What had he done? What had he been forced to do? Her heart hurt for his lost childhood, but it wasn't surprising. As a little kid, he constantly tried to live beyond his years. Eager to do adult things and have adult conversations. It was bound to happen; he stepped up to this world's challenge, for better and worse.

There was no doubt Rick would do whatever it took to keep Carl alive. After the fall, she rambled from place to place. It was hard trying to stay alive while carrying the weight of guilt on her back. She should have been there to help keep him alive. Carl captured her heart almost as quickly as his father did.

"But you left him," she said to herself as the tears rolled down her face, maybe preparing herself for what he would say to her. Leaving wasn't easy; she wrestled with it before she left and after.

Tears turned into whimpers then stifled cries she failed to keep from turning into chest-heaving sobs like she did when she was out there alone. When she'd find a safe place — an empty building where the biters couldn't get to her — and wail over not being there with Rick to keep Carl safe. There were nightmares of Carl's death. For a long time, she was in some hideous form of groundhog day waking up in tears after watching him die before her eyes night after night after night. At one point, she went through a grieving process. Believing they were dead was easier to deal with than wondering what if they were alive and suffering.

She continued to watch all the videos, captivated by the people Rick and Carl connected with though she couldn't imagine Rick with any of them. Not that Rick had the best taste in friends before the world changed. At their core, they could be nice but there were still signs Michonne saw that Rick was blind to. She didn't hold it against people for not being perfect, herself included, but she couldn't get over his friendship with one friend in particular — Shane. Rick thought it was a positive character trait that Shane had no problem charging forward when others were holding back. That didn't make him brave, it made Shane someone who loved trouble. You had to wonder about the people always around with a smile on their faces when shit turned sideways. She wouldn't have given a damn except he was Rick's partner. In uniform or out, he was a hothead and an asshole with a lot of warped beliefs. Rick just believed he didn't buckle to the pressure of being politically correct; country boys said what they felt.

She didn't see a Shane type in the group. They were quite the eclectic tribe. She didn't know what to make of them. Rick wasn't a religious man so maybe this Gabriel wasn't really a preacher and got off on wearing it in some perverse way. In his interview, he sounded like one of those televangelist charlatans. She already met Eugene, who was more pompous in his interview than in person. Carol the homemaker was an enigma. She described herself as something of a den mother. Maybe that's what she was in the past, but she had to have more value than doing laundry for a group of adults. This new Rick didn't seem like the babysitting type. Women had to defend themselves, particularly in this world, and Rick would make sure. He taught Michonne how to fire a weapon. One of their first dates was at a gun range. And then there was Daryl. He looked like someone Rick would arrest rather than befriend. But she knew from experience, these times made you less particular about the company you kept. So maybe none of these people were the most dangerous of what the world now offered but that didn't make them good.

Despite her feelings about this group, it was clear Rick had a connection to each one. They all mentioned his name. They all detailed how he led them, kept them safe. They believed in him. He may not have seemed like the Rick she knew, but everything they said was who she knew him to be. They were so different; she imagined these people had to be like the rings on a tree — there were different circles within this large group. Who Rick trusted to have his back in a life and death situation wasn't necessarily the one he trusted with his most vulnerable of emotions. Michonne was the same way — she compartmentalized the people in her life. She never wanted one person to know too much, and that was before the world changed. Information was a weapon. She'd be damned if she ever gave just anyone the key to destroying her. Not again.

Deanna believed this world made people love, made them appreciate people they didn't in the past. Like it was some grand societal do-over forcing people to leave behind presumptions and prejudices. But what Deanna didn't realize by living in this antiseptic community where people silenced their true selves to remain safe was that people could be the same as they were before and often that was the case. In previous places, Michonne saw the same ignorance and ugliness in subtle ways — like how they divided labor and leadership. People used each other for survival; that's it. The benevolent were the minority. This world didn't change souls, it simply changed circumstances. Shit was screwed up.

She understood what Deanna was striving for and she didn't think Deanna was wrong for wanting it. It's just that Deanna always came from a starting position of total trust instead of healthy skepticism. Michonne appreciated the community Deanna built, she just didn't have the peace of mind Deanna and the others had. It was why she still felt out of place. She thought of the shit that could happen and they didn't think at all. And it wasn't just the mindset, it was the people themselves. She had acquaintances she had pleasant conversations with from time to time, but in a past life most of these people she wouldn't socialize with. Deanna and Aaron were the types of people she ran into at professional social settings due to her career.

These days it didn't matter if someone read Murakami, listened to Sarah Chang, loved _Sweeney Todd_ or were a Baptist or a Catholic _._ None of that mattered out there, but it kind of mattered in here. Along with where you came from and what you believed in. When you weren't scavenging for food or running for your life, you had time. Time to think about who you were and what mattered beyond survival because those things shaped you, made you, were part of your DNA. It wasn't just her, this community made you feel like an outsider in different ways. While they accepted you as someone who could handle danger — making you worthy of being in the walls — it didn't mean you were automatically worthy of being in their homes.

She clicked on Carl's video again and stared at his face. As afraid as she was to deal with Rick, she was twice as afraid to face Carl. He never understood the divorce. Rick refused to let her talk to him because it was too hard for Carl. According to Rick, she gave Carl false hope that one day she'd return and they'd be a family again. To be honest, her heart never closed the door on being a family again but as the weeks and months went on and Rick limited her interaction with Carl, she read the writing on the wall. Now they were living down the street from each, not six hundred miles away, and her heart didn't know what to feel.

* * *

Rick watched in shock as Daryl gutted the possum on the porch. Laid the guts right there. He would have mentioned that maybe Daryl could have done that elsewhere — like in the backyard or better yet outside the gates — but the guts already stained the wood. Clearly, Daryl never had a thing worth taking pride in. Rick made note to find some soap — bleach if they had it — to remove the smell and keep the flies away.

"I never thought we'd find a place like this," Rick said and leaned against the railing. This wasn't some prison or a couple of abandoned houses. This place would be beautiful before the world changed, but now, it looked like paradise, like a place a guy like him could only see in pictures — like Venice, Italy, where his ex-wife wanted to go for their honeymoon. Part of him believed they were destined to bounce from pillar to post with little more than guns and the clothes on their backs like some reject militia without a home to defend.

"Now we have." Daryl wasn't much of a talker unless it was about fighting or revenge and then his words were limitless.

Carl walked out and joined them. "I like this house. I wonder what the other looks like." His eyes darted to the home next door reserved for them.

"Go ahead," Rick said with a nod of his head. "Be quick."

As Carl descended the stairs Carol joined them.

"Be careful," Rick called out to Carl, defeated. That last part Carl didn't need; it was for Rick. Saying things like that just made a parent feel better. It made him feel like he was still doing his job. It was also about not wanting to tempt fate. As if something happening would be because he didn't say what he'd said one thousand times before.

Rick, Carol, and Daryl walked around the two homes checking out the exits and how close they were to the walls. If he dared be so stupid, he could imagine this was just another day with the neighbors back in the old world. Meeting up for coffee as they walked their kids to the school bus or walked their dogs, or grabbed the morning paper complaining that the paperboy tossed it in the flowerbed again. That's probably what these people did, sat around pretending all was well instead of the truth — that the world was crumbling around them and getting worse as each day passed. They stood on the sidewalk in front of the two homes.

"They took our weapons and now they're splitting us up," Carol said with a smile on her face looking around like she was a wide-eyed tourist taking in the sights. She played the role of the harmless woman better than when she was one.

It didn't enter Rick's mind to play it that way once they were inside the gates. Partly because Aaron already saw them in action and two, pretending he was something he wasn't was not in his bag of tools. He found being upfront about who he was and what he could do always served him well. It warded off plenty of men who thought about challenging him, which saved him from pointless battles with those not worthy.

Daryl grunted in agreement. Rick learned how to read those sounds — whether Daryl was agreeing or disagreeing.

"We'll all sleep in the same house tonight," Rick said. "And take shifts looking out."

Carl came out of the house, his face already more relaxed in the short time they'd be here than he'd seen in a long time.

"Which one you like best?" Rick called out.

"The one we're in," he said as he walked down the steps. "I'm going to Ron's." He paused. "Is… is that okay?"

Asking for permission? A few hours in and he seemed to regain some of the youth he long lost since the world changed. "Yeah. Have fun." He watched as his son walked away from him, walked somewhere unknown without him by his side to protect him. "Carl," he said before stopping himself.

Carl turned and waited then smiled. "I'll be careful, dad."

Rick nodded softly, slowly, almost putting himself into a trance. Maybe if he kept nodding his head, he'd believe that everything would be okay — at Ron's house, in Alexandria, and in the future. He turned to Carol and Daryl. "What do you think of this place? Really."

"We need our weapons," she said. "No matter how this plays."

"You think they're dangerous?" Rick asked. He felt that way but wanted to see where their heads were.

"Yes," Carol said. "Maybe this isn't Terminus, but not arming people is suicidal. If nothing else, they're living on borrowed time. I'm gonna look around; make friends and learn things." She walked off with that permanent smile plastered on her face.

"We should do the same. Let's explore," Rick said to Daryl as they headed back to the house and stood at the steps.

"Nah, I'm okay."

Daryl focused on his dinner that Rick was sure he would be a meal for one. With a stove and a pantry of food, the rest of them would eat a real meal. He overheard Tara and Maggie make out a dinner menu for the week. It was obvious where they stood when it came to this place — they were eager to unpack their bags and start calling this place home. If the rest of the group had any doubts they hid them well behind the smiles and laughter as they explored the community.

* * *

"Where you headed?" Carl asked from somewhere behind him.

Rick turned to see Carl jogging to catch up with him. For the first time, he noticed Carl wasn't wearing his hat, not since they first arrived. "To check out the gates and walls. Wanna come along?"

"Sure."

There were more people moving about. Rick smiled and nodded as each person made eye contact with him. It was best to put up a front of carefree happiness and appreciation for being here. Carol was right about one thing — smiles made these people feel at ease. When you've been out there a long time, smiles made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Only nutjobs smiled at strangers out there.

"What do you think of this place?" Carl asked.

"It seems nice." When he didn't get a response, he turned to see Carl looking at him. "What?"

"You said it seems nice. You didn't say safe or secure." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Well, we're about to find out about the secure part."

"And safe?"

"That depends on the people." He frowned. "Why the questions? Something happen at Ron's house?"

"No. He was nice and the other kids too — Enid and Mikey."

Carl never had a problem making friends. Before he could walk he was making friends. But these days it was tough for him. No matter how hard Rick tried to slow down time and Carl's growth back at the prison he kid was not like the other kids his age. Even though Patrick and Beth were a few years older than him, Carl seemed to be on a different level. He preferred hanging around Rick, Glenn, and Daryl making life and death decisions.

"I like it here. I like the people but…"

Rick put his hand on Carl's shoulder and stopped him. "But what?"

"It's just that… they're weak and I don't want us to get weak too."

For a long time that had been Carl's fear. On the farm, at the prison, and after. He was no longer the father who told his son everything would be okay, that there was nothing to worry about. It was a lie the first time he told it and he'd told that lie too many times. He was glad Carl knew of the potential problems this place presented. Awareness made him safer, much more than being sheltered from the danger.

"You know why they have these privacy shields here?" He pointed at the gate then smiled at the woman guarding the gate.

"So the walkers can't see us inside."

"Yeah," Rick said as he ran his hand against it as they kept walking. "They're not completely clueless. And what they don't know we'll show them."

Carl nodded. They did a lap of the entire perimeter, inspecting the walls and looking for weak points. There were only two spots they needed repair. Maybe they were fine, but there was no such thing as too cautious or too prepared. As they turned the corner they heard a commotion. A crowd had formed, a mix of his people and their people.

"That's enough," Deanna screamed getting between her son and Glenn, who was in a fighting stance. "I said enough."

Daryl took down Nicholas like a tackling dummy during a football drill. Rick ran over and grabbed Daryl from behind, pulling him back and whispering in his ear. "I'm sure there'll be a time but not here. Not now." He looked around, the Alexandrians looked horrified, scared even. Like they'd never seen a fight before.

His group was never one for starting fights but, like Rick's father instructed him as a kid, they made sure they ended them. So whatever happened with Glenn and the kid — who now had blood streaming down his face — he knew it was necessary and Glenn was in the right.

"I want everyone to listen up," Deanna screamed. "Rick and his people are part of this community — in every way. Equals." She faced her son. "Understood?"

The kid hated the idea of that. It was written all over his face, but like a dutiful son he nodded, "Understood."

"Everyone put your weapons away." She pointed at Aiden and Nicholas. "And you two, come see me."

The crowd dispersed. This was probably the most excitement they'd had since who knows — potluck dinner or game night. Rick, Maggie, and Glenn were left standing with Deanna.

"I told you I had a job for you," Deanna said as she stood next to Rick. She looked up at him. "I'd like you to be our constable. That's who you were, that's who you are." She smiled just a little. "That's who you'll always be. Will you?"

He glanced at Glenn and Maggie, then down at Deanna. If he played this right, it would put him in a better position to control how things went around here. "I...sure." He feigned disinterest.

"Stop by my house and I'll get you all set up," she said.

He nodded and looked around again, remembering Carl had been with him, but he was already gone.

When he grabbed the uniform from Deanna, they sat and talked for a while. A long while. What she told him, about their safety measures, made him more nervous than he was before. He tried to plant seeds in her head of the changes he wanted to make for the community. They seemed to go in one ear and out the other like he was one of her old constituents complaining about speed bumps.

Now he was standing in front of a mirror looking at himself in a uniform he thought he'd never wear again. The world was shit and there was no law and order but there was a stir in his belly and he was sure it was pride. His sheriff's deputy uniform meant something to him from the first time he put it on. When he walked down the stairs, the group stared at him. There were a couple of smiles, a few frowns, and expressions he couldn't read. He saw Daryl outside and made eye contact with Carol before he stepped out onto the porch.

Daryl took a drag and looked over at Rick. "You're a cop again?"

"Hate me again?"

"So, we're staying?" Carol asked as she walked over and stood in front of Rick, her back against the railing.

"Looks like it," Rick said. "We'll settle in and get comfortable. I think we can split up and half go to the other house."

"If we're not careful, if we let our guard down this place will make us weak," Carol said.

Rick looked at her. "Carl said the same thing." He surveyed the community, what little he could see in the dark. There was only a few street lamps lit. "But that won't happen. Not to us. We won't get weak. That's not who we are." He heard a doubtful sigh from Carol. "You feel different?"

"No. I said something similar to Maggie back in the barn."

These people were clueless. Offering haircuts. Giving positions of authority to strangers. They were dangerously optimistic. It was a good thing Aaron found them and not the people his group came across out there. It would be because of his people that this community would survive a lot longer than they would otherwise.

"We'll be fine," Rick said. He looked at both of them, square in the eyes. "They'll be fine and if they can't make it, we'll take this place. We'll show them the way."


	3. The Twilight Zone

**A/N:** _I don't even know what to say about this one. I would write this over and over if I didn't publish so I forced myself to say it's done. It's a long one and I'm not sure how that happened. I hope you enjoy it_.

* * *

After two days in her townhouse, Michonne finally opened her door only to return Deanna's laptop. Her self-imposed solitary confinement was standard; it's what she did after coming off a long run. It was decompressing. People understood and gave her the space she needed. Maybe it wasn't what she needed, more like what she wanted. However, this time wasn't about needs or wants — it was about fear. She couldn't handle facing Rick and Carl. And like the enemy it had always been in matters of the heart, her mind thought of the worst-case scenarios. Of what they might do or say when they saw her. None of it was good. She couldn't imagine them running up to hug and squeeze her so tight she couldn't breathe. Her mind didn't imagine Carl smothering her with kisses even if it's what she wanted. If nothing else, she was always painfully realistic — it's why she never dreamed — and she knew that would not be the greeting she was in for. This would be no fairytale.

In just two days, the new residents made quite the impression, and it spread through the grapevine. Aiden, no surprise, and Nicholas got into it with Daryl, again no surprise, and Glenn. Now, Glenn surprised her. In his interview he seemed pensive and candid, but not a hothead. Aiden was always in need of someone bringing him down a notch. The fight made her like Glenn. Other than Rick, she saw the rawest honesty from Glenn. The others tried to sugarcoat it, went on about how hard it was, how they simply did what needed to be done, and how grateful they were Aaron found them, but Glenn admitted they'd almost been out there too long. She wasn't sure if Deanna understood what that meant, but Michonne did. She knew from her own time out there. When you're out there too long you become desensitized to not only the bad things you see but things you're willing to do. And the justification — you justified any and everything. Sometimes you didn't bother to justify because that's just how much you didn't give a shit. Whatever it was, it had to be done. Period.

The three blocks to the Monroe home felt like miles as she prayed she didn't run into Rick and Carl. She headed up the grand stairs and shook her head at the antebellum architectural style of the home, which was the largest in the community. History made beautiful things repugnant just by association. Just as she reached the top, the door opened and a member of Rick's group — the pretty but sad one — appeared.

"Hi, I'm Maggie."

Michonne nodded. She knew from the videos this was Glenn's wife. In her interview, she went on and on with a melancholic detailing of how she met Glenn after the world changed. Love in the age of death. Michonne wasn't sure if it was kismet or just plain morbid. She was hesitant to introduce herself for fear Maggie would mention her name around Rick or Carl. It's not like her name was Lauren or Susan. They knew she lived in D.C. and hearing her name would trigger something in them. In different circumstances, she wouldn't have been able to wait to be reunited with them. The truth was, she wasn't ready for them to look for her — or worse, not.

The door opened wider and Deanna appeared. "Oh Maggie, this is Michonne. She's part of our other run crew. But she's more than that."

Deanna introduced her in that manner on the rare occasions new people joined the community. Other than Reg, Michonne was Deanna's sounding board. Even if Deanna didn't follow through on suggestions, Michonne still told Deanna the things the woman didn't want to hear or believe.

"Nice to meet you, Michonne," Maggie said and offered her hand. Michonne smiled and shook her hand. "Well, I'm gonna get going."

She seemed lighter in spirit, the dark cloud over her in the video seemed to have lifted. Deanna struck again. She could sell ice to an Eskimo or, more relevant to the current state of life, make you think you could change the world. Michonne stepped aside and watched Maggie leave before turning back to see Deanna smiling at her. Ready to head back to her place, Michonne handed her the laptop.

"Come in. I want to know what you think," Deanna said.

Rick's dirty handprint was on the wall. She walked over and ran her finger over it before placing her hand against it. She closed her eyes as if she were placing her hand against his. As if she could feel it. Her imagination ran with the thought of what it would be like to see him and touch him, actual flesh. She shivered and took a deep breath holding it until Deanna broke the spell.

Deanna was on the couch with a notepad and a pen. "So, let's start with Rick."

Michonne sat in the chair the others sat in when Deanna interviewed them. "I can see why he's the leader. He's not a follower and won't take to carrying out someone else's orders," she said pointedly to Deanna, describing him in almost clinical terms.

"Well, there aren't any orders."

"What happens when he doesn't agree with one of your decisions? You think he's just going to roll over?"

Deanna was accustomed to hearing 'whatever you think is best' from the people in this community. Michonne was the only one who challenged Deanna in any capacity that mattered.

"Not without a fight, and that's a good thing. There are things we can learn from him and his people. Just as we learned so much from you when you arrived. That's why we brought them in."

Michonne nodded and stood ready to leave. "Well, that's that." Deanna already admired Rick. There was nothing she could say to change that, not that she was looking to change Deanna's mind about him. This was where Carl needed to be. So whatever Rick was now, whatever problems he and his group could present, she and Deanna would have to deal with it — for Carl's sake.

"I've made him our constable. I'd like you to work with him."

"As a constable?" Michonne frowned.

"No, I'm still working it out in my head. But like you said, he's a strong personality. Only makes sense to match him up with you. Sit. I want to talk about the others and what I have in store for them."

After an hour of talking about the new people and the future, Michonne was sure of one thing as she walked back to her place, Deanna had already decided. This group wasn't taking part in some test run, they were here to stay and Michonne's biggest concern was how to let Carl and Rick know she was here. She felt guilty for not immediately rushing to see them but it was just as much for them as herself. She hadn't come up with the best way and it's all she thought about since she saw their videos. The last thing she wanted was for them to find out in front of other people. They would need time to process, not be on display. She imagined seeing her and then having to live in the same community would be like ripping off a band-aid and then picking at the scab. One thing was for sure, she needed to show herself before the party.

She tried to come up with the least shitty way when the universe took care of that for her. Standing a few feet from her, stopped in his tracks, was Rick. She froze, afraid to move. They were the only two around.

Thanks to a haircut and losing that awful beard she saw the man she fell in love with. This was the guy who showed up at her door with flowers and made her smile even though she believed it to be an outdated gesture for a first date. She was staring at the man who could put her in a trance with every inch of him: eyes, lips, arms. She had it so bad she even loved his hands which were twitching like he was about to reach for a gun in some old western showdown. He was struggling with seeing her. She could see it all over him.

Her fingers spread out in a fan against her chest as she stared at his hands, too embarrassed to make eye contact. Her desire to flee was beaten out only by the look he gave her as if he dared her to move. So she stayed.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself whisper. To whom or about what she wasn't sure. She looked up at him.

He squeezed his eyes shut a couple of times. "You. What are you doing here?"

"I live here, Rick." The difference in their voices was palpable. He was growling and she, never one to shy away from a confrontation, was reduced to barely a whisper. Her heart raced, and she found herself not just nervous, but scared. Scared of what he would say, of how she would feel. She breathed through her mouth and even without looking down, she could see the rise and fall of her chest, she could hear herself breathing.

"Since when?"

"A few months."

It was like something snapped in him and brought him back to life. His eyes went from glazed over to clear and zeroed in on her. "You go your way and live your life. I'll go mine." He turned and walked off.

"What," she said before clearing her throat. "What about Carl? He'll see me, eventually. How are we going to handle that?"

He turned and looked at her. "We? I'll handle what happens to my son. Stay away from him." Those blue eyes looked less like pools of sparkling water and more like a raging storm.

"Rick, that's not logical. Not to mention he's…" She saw Mrs. Nedermeyer about half a block away coming in their direction. Gossip queen. "Come inside." She pointed to her door. "This is my place."

He followed her eyes and looked behind him then turned back to look at her. "Still hate to be seen with me, huh? Some things never change."

She led him inside. Once the door was closed, she turned to face him. "Hate to be seen with you?" But she knew. Knew how he felt but it wasn't true. She wasn't embarrassed by him. She appreciated his simple ways. Actually, she found out the hard way simple was the wrong word. She said that once, and he was so offended they didn't speak to each for a week. She never came up with the right word — uncomplicated, straightforward — so she stopped trying to think of the perfect word. She always said she wanted a highly educated man who loved reading and could talk about the topics that interested her, but most of those men wanted to compete with her — prove they were smarter. It was tiresome. Rick was smart without the multiple degrees. He never tried to one-up her. She loved that about him.

"Would you like to sit?"

"This ain't a social call." His hands were on his hips as he looked around her place, roaming, looking in the kitchen, toward the stairs. "You live here alone?"

"Yes."

"Makes sense." She could take that many ways but decided not to over think it at the moment. Instead, she'd be neurotic and save it for later so she could lose her mind thinking of what he could mean.

"I heard Deanna made you the constable. That's good. You'll be great."

He bristled at her small talk.

"What? Even the truth is hard to hear when it comes from me?" There it was; just that quick. They hadn't seen each other for a year yet fell back in line like they never parted. That's who they were. They fought as much as they loved. That was fine, but they never managed to get the ratio right.

He snorted. "The truth? Like till death do us part?"

"Rick—"

"What's security like here? How many total people live here? Do they know how to protect themselves, kill walkers, fire weapons, fight?"

"You know I didn't leave because—"

"Doesn't matter. You left. Not my business. But bringing my son into a place like this is my business. Knowing the history, your plans, how you do things is my business. That's all I care about."

"Fair enough."

"Thanks for giving me credit," he said. He rolled his eyes.

She slammed her hand on the counter then closed her eyes and tried to control herself with four seconds of slow breathing through her nose and releasing it through her mouth for the same amount of time. They never resolved the end of their marriage. She always wanted that, unfair as it may have seemed to him, so she could continue being part of Carl's life even from a distance. After she moved, she figured she'd give Rick time and they could make things better, get to a point where they could be civil. Then the world went and screwed itself up and civility became a thing of the past.

She took a deep breath, steeling her emotions then turned to face him. "Rick, Deanna is a smart woman. She's created something good here. It may not be perfect but it's better than what you had when Aaron found you."

He walked out the door without bothering to say goodbye or look back.

"When can I see Carl?" She asked as the door closed.

Carl was his son, and she respected that even though she wanted to see Carl no matter what Rick said. She stood in the middle of the room stewing over his dismissive behavior.

"No," she said, deciding not to let him get away. She ran out the door. He was halfway down the street and she nearly caught up with him when Carol appeared. Michonne went back to the steps of her townhouse and watched them. Carol surveyed the area as they spoke, occasionally offering a smile to no one in particular like she was on some Miss America stage. Michonne watched until they walked out of her line of sight.

A small, delusional part of her hoped their feud could smooth over on its own. Maybe he would be too tired, seen too much, dealt with too much to remember he hated her. She wished arguments had expiration dates like milk or links to change passwords but it was clear he had lost none of his anger for her.

* * *

Rick ditched Carol because he didn't need her analyzing him while he processed this shit. He hightailed it back to the house, bypassing everyone there, and hid away in his bedroom. It felt like he was on the cusp of a nervous breakdown. Throat tightening up. His breathing was so heavy he felt a pain in the center of his chest. What a way to go in this new world — a fucking heart attack. He tried to control himself, his thoughts, his desire to respond in some physical way. He repeatedly balled his fists. The tears burned his eyes — tears of anger. Maybe rage was a better word. At first, he thought he was seeing things, or maybe he was dying and flashes of his life were passing before him like when he had visions of his brother while they were on the road to Virginia and his parents back at the prison. But Michonne was real, standing there in front of him like it was nothing. Like her betrayal never happened. If she were a man, he would have thrown a punch, so he had to get out of there, away from her. If he believed in God, he'd think the dude was messing with his head. This world was already hell just to survive and now it had to bring him to his knees with her presence.

He wished he could go back to the day they met so he could undo it all, do everything differently so she never entered his life. He could take the pain — it's what he deserved for making the wrong choice — but he wished he could protect his son from being loved then deserted. Carl had a mother who died and a stepmother who stopped giving a shit. The good times they had together weren't worth it.

Most people thought when he became a widower it brought on his loneliness, but the truth was he had been unhappy and lonely for a while — long before his wife's death, but divorce wasn't an option. A shining example, his parents raised him to believe in the power and beauty of marriage and family. You worked hard for it; you made it better even if you couldn't make it right. You didn't give up. Not when you loved. But by the end, his marriage wasn't good and the work they put in never led to long-term solutions, just quick fixes till the next dumb fight. Then she got sick and all the ingredients for happily ever after, like happiness and communication, ceased to matter. It was his duty to be there. He had to do it not just for Carl and Lori, but for himself.

So when he met Michonne it was like a glass of water after being in an emotional desert for five years — the two years before his wife got sick, the one while she was sick, and the two after. She was what he needed. With her, there were no painful hypothetical questions that didn't have a right answer. There was no heavy shit. Just good times and great sex meant to be nothing but turned into everything in one month — thirty-one days in a whirlwind July. They were married before Columbus Day.

They laughed a lot when they were together. It felt good, and that was something he hadn't felt in a long time. After feeling like they buried him with his first wife, he felt alive with Michonne. Resurrected. She filled all the voids missing in his life. They consumed each other, so blinded by pleasure they didn't realize it was too much too soon.

His emotions couldn't be distilled down to a single emotion like hurt or anger. The truth — when he was brave enough to acknowledge it — was that for so long he was angry, confused, embarrassed, and heartbroken over her walking out on him. He wasn't sure how many of those emotions remained. The anger was there, there was no doubt about that. More angry at himself than anything or anyone.

He never had all of her — heart, mind, and soul. He was happy with two out of three because he wasn't sure anyone could have her mind. He settled for most of her and thought that would be enough. Then it was some of her until there was none of her. He had no business accepting less than what he deserved but she overwhelmed him. He'd never known anyone like her and it clouded his judgment. She was untamed, wild and for the first time in his life so was he. She took him out of his stale life. Ironic that the parts of her he loved most ended up hurting him.

"Dad?"

The sound of Carl's voice calling out for him and his boots trudging up the stairs brought Rick back to the present. "Here." Quickly he went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, tossing the towel on the edge of the sink after he dried his face. He walked out of the master bathroom to find Carl looking out the window with his hands in his jeans pockets. "Hey."

Carl looked at him with the slightest frown on his face causing a crinkle in his forehead and he cocked his head cocked as he studied Rick. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look sick." Rick didn't answer. "What's wrong? Something's wrong, right?"

"Carl," he said then stopped. This was hard, but he knew he had to tell him, prepare him. "I… I don't think we can stay here." That wasn't what he planned to say. He wasn't sure why he said it. Probably a cop-out, maybe forward thinking or wishful thinking. This place was fool's gold, anyway. It was only a matter of time before it became obvious.

"You told us we were staying. What happened?" He sighed and his shoulders fell. "What did you do?"

There would always be a part of Carl that thought Rick would mess things up for them and he had every right to believe it. He showed that to be the case frequently in the past. Fuck up after fuck up. Sure, he got things right, but he got many people killed too. When you try to save everyone, you end up losing the ones you love the most. Some people have to die in the name of progress. Better for it to be others over your own. That's life now. He didn't make the rules but he damn sure knew how to play the game.

"Dad."

"I saw someone today. Someone who lives here." He sat on the bed.

"Who? Someone bad?"

Maybe not bad like the others but he didn't consider her presence a good thing. "Michonne. Michonne lives here, Carl." He watched his son closely, not sure of what this news would do to him.

Carl stared. Stared at him, stared at the wall, stared out the window. "How?"

"How what?"

He turned and looked at Rick. "How do you know it's her. Are you sure you weren't just seeing things like before?"

Carl was never one to shy away from saying precisely what he meant. While it was an issue when he was younger, kids didn't know there was a time and place for unadulterated truth, he often said what needed to be said these days.

"It's her. I talked to her."

He watched his son try to wrap his head around what Rick told him. Carl and Michonne were close. They had their own bond that had nothing to do with Rick. Comic books, video games, roller coasters. He was always good in school but she got him to love it. That's why it hurt all the more that she left — she didn't just leave him, she left Carl. In many ways, Carl was closer to her than Rick. He wasn't jealous. He appreciated it. Carl needed someone he could trust that wasn't his father. Someone who could guide him; someone he could trust to tell important things.

"I know you're still feeling upset she left…"

Carl shook his head. "To be honest, I don't know what I feel about that, dad. I haven't thought about it in a long time. I'm just glad she's alive. Is she okay?"

In the time Rick had to process since seeing her, her well-being never entered his mind. She was alive. She survived. He wasn't flooded with a sense of relief, just anger from the moment he laid eyes on her.

"Dad, is she okay?"

"She looks like she has all her fingers and toes."

"How long has she been here? Where does she live?"

"I don't know."

"And you said you talked to her?"

"Only for a minute."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing." Nothing that mattered. Nothing that helped with the plan to make sure his people would be okay. On their way to Virginia, Rick thought about her and wondered where could she be. What happened to her? Did she survive? He never mentioned it to Carl and Carl never mentioned her so he thought Carl put her out of his mind. This was the most they talked about her since the change.

"You think she'll be at the party?"

"I don't know."

"You still hate her, right?" Carl nodded his head as if answering the question for himself.

Rick sighed, hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "Carl." He had dealt with the overwhelming frustration of not having the right words since Carl was three years old refusing to accept what someone said when he didn't like the answer. "I think you should stay here tonight."

"What? No. I already told Ron and Mikey I would hang out with them at the party."

He didn't have the energy or the fight in him to argue with Carl about it. He already had to worry about this community and now Michonne. "Okay, but just keep your distance from her."

Carl frowned. "What do you mean keep my distance? Why?"

"I don't want them to know just yet. We need to be careful. We still don't know who these people are."

"But Michonne is here. She knows us. She can tell them who we are, vouch for us." Rick stared. "You don't think she's dangerous too, do you? She's not."

"How do you know?" He always had to challenge. Right now Rick was like a wounded animal with the lack of answers he had for his son and when Carl saw weakness he pounced.

"Because she's Michonne."

"Fine, but we don't know what they think about her," he said. "What if they don't completely trust her? Then we look bad too."

He watched Carl. Rick wasn't even sure he believed it though he figured it couldn't hurt to keep some things to themselves. The more information they had that others didn't was to their advantage. But when Carl looked up at him he knew his son wasn't thrilled about going along with it.

"So if I she comes up to me I'm supposed to act like she's a stranger?"

"Okay, you don't have to avoid her, but just greet her like anyone else. Can you do that?" Carl remained silent. "Please, Carl. I need you to trust me."

"For tonight, yes." He walked out of the room.

He should have known Carl would force his hand like he had every other time. But Carl was right. This wasn't a plan that could last for too long. It was just for the night until he could wrap his head around this. Then he would have to come up with a more permanent solution.

* * *

"Shit," she said as she realized her final dress choices for the party were both white — Rick's favorite color on her. One was form-fitting but down to her knees and the other, with the small flowers on the skirt, was more like a sundress women wore to those southern garden luncheons she suffered through back in Atlanta. Those damn Southern belles drove her nuts, unaware of the history of some of their traditions and how offensive it was to continue them. Luckily, her personal life didn't require that mindless adoration of the past. Rick never cared about her conforming to the world of traditional southern wife that even the most highly educated women felt the need to live up to in the 21st century. To each her own, she supposed, but there were no casserole recipes and pantyhose in ninety-degree weather for her. Her man liked her heels and leather pants and provocative lingerie and beer-drinking out of the bottle.

But that was then, and this was now. Now, based on their first encounter, he couldn't stand to be in her presence for over three minutes, what she wore wouldn't matter. But wanting to look good for him was nothing new. The way his eyes lit up, the gentle smile on his face even though his filthy intentions were obvious made her warm all over. She recalled so many nights she took painstaking time to get ready for a night out only to be derailed by Rick. Most times she never made it out of the bedroom let alone the house. That pull he had on her, that need she had for him, had always been her undoing.

He helped her when she was a kind of broken that was difficult to explain, that was somewhat benign so no one took it seriously. She had no painful past. No abuse, no broken heart so people just thought she was too picky. She knew it was more than that. She had always been too aloof for love and found relationships a seasonal thing. But when she met Rick, she realized all those other times weren't love. Just before she met Rick she went from a relationship that sucked the life out of her with worthless expectations to someone who just let her be and loved her for her. Falling for Rick was a mistake she knew better than to make. But he was so wonderful she couldn't resist him. He was a bright shining light, and she felt like she was standing in the sunshine when he was around. He was too good to turn loose. Every day she told herself that would be the day she would end it but she was too selfish and it went on until three people ended up hurt. Rick would never believe it, but she didn't leave and not look back.

A knock on her door brought her out of the trance that was leading her nowhere good. She put on her jeans and tank top and answered the door.

"Hey, you busy?"

"Never too busy for you," she said. "Come in."

Waltman was the only person Michonne found and brought back into the community. She got separated from Heath and Scott while out on a run and found herself trapped against a wall with a dozen biters between her and safety. All she heard was someone scream for her to hit the dirt and then there was a spray of bullets leaving behind a pile of biters. Waltman was messed up, but he saved her when he didn't have to, he didn't even know her. There was something in his eyes that let her know he wasn't dangerous, just damaged. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing because who the hell wasn't damaged?

"You attending this party tonight?" He asked.

"Yes. How about you?"

He sat on the couch. "No. I think I'll relax. Got work to do on the walls tomorrow."

"Is there a weak spot?" She sat next to him. Deanna never mentioned it.

"Nothing major, a strut on the east wall looks compromised. It won't give anytime soon but eventually, it will." Waltman was a trained masonry specialist in the National Guard. Once Deanna and Reg found out about that they ignored all the skeptics who wanted him gone after he had a hard time adjusting to the community. It wasn't so much he was a problem, he was like everyone else who lived out there and then entered Alexandria, he thought the people who lived here were living in a fantasyland.

"You stopped by for a chat?" Michonne asked.

"More or less. Is that okay?" He smirked at her.

She laughed. "You know it is."

His smile fell. "What do you think of these new people?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I think they could be okay." Despite her trepidation about Rick, his presence in the group made her more willing to trust them than she would have otherwise. "Who has you thinking?" She held her breath.

"I'm not thinking anything crazy like they're bad." He grabbed a pillow and held it. "Have you met Sasha?"

"Not yet."

"She's seen a lot."

"They all have, I'm sure," Michonne said as she thought about Carl and Rick.

"But it touched her in a way it didn't for the others. She's struggling. You can see it all over her face."

If anyone knew about the struggle, the demons that caused it all, it was Waltman. They mobilized his guard unit during the outbreak and it haunted him the way they treated people. He didn't sign up to separate families and put them in internment camps, to kill Americans in the U.S. streets then dump their bodies in a heap and light them on fire. That was too much for someone who joined the Army for money for college tuition so he went AWOL and out on his own.

"Yeah," she said in a failed attempt to put him at ease if that's what he was looking for. She didn't know what to say nor did she know what Waltman wanted from her.

* * *

Under the guise of teaching her how to shoot, Rick, Daryl, and Carol went outside the gates beyond the watch of nosy neighbors. He stared at Carol in her sweater set and khaki pants. It was like dress up. Actually, more like undercover work. The Alexandrians saw her as this soft-spoken, delicate soccer mom; it was believable to them. Natural. They never saw her kill people she lived with, void of any remorse, or blow up an entire community. Seeing her this way made her scarier to him. She was a chameleon, changing in whatever way she needed to survive. He wondered if she ever used those skills on their group. Maybe she had already, and he didn't know.

"So what are you thinking?" Rick asked.

They stood in a tight circle though they probably didn't need to; that's who they were now. Their group went through hell out there. When you shed blood together it brought about an impenetrable bond and a confidence in what they could handle. They barely turned at the sound of walkers in the distance.

"Just go in and take a few guns," Carol said.

"That's it? That's the plan?" Rick asked.

"That's all it'll take," she said.

"You said that girl is always there, and it's locked up at night," Daryl said.

Carol frowned with contempt. "There's just a latch on the window."

"A latch?" Rick bit down on his lip and steadied his breathing, counting to four to calm himself. These people and their half ass ways pissed him off the more he learned about them.

"Yeah."

"What if one of those idiots locks it?" Daryl asked. He looked back and forth between Rick and Carol.

"Wait a couple of days and try until they don't lock it," Carol shrugged. "Their security is nothing more than for show. Other than having someone at the gate I haven't seen them serious about anything pertaining to security. It won't be hard."

"What if they notice guns are missing?" Daryl asked.

"They got so much and they're just tossed in footlockers that no one ever uses so they'll never notice a few are gone."

Footlockers, Rick shook his head. He turned around at the sound of walkers in the distance. It didn't sound like many but they were closer than when they first arrived.

"We need to do it now, while we're new and everyone is bending over backward to be nice."

"Maybe we won't need 'em," Daryl said.

"We will. No matter what, we will," Carol said.

"The others," Rick said. "We want them to try. So we keep this to ourselves. It'll look better. Make the community feel better about us being here."

"You too," she said to Daryl. "Talk to some people, try to fit in."

What she didn't say was take a shower. It was hard to be inconspicuous with Daryl scaring the shit out of these people and there was no way to sneak up on people when they could smell you a block away. Only Rick, Carol, Glenn, and Maggie seemed to have made a good impression on Deanna. She was probably still feeling out the others, and they hadn't made it easy even if they wanted to be there.

"Tonight is good a night as any," Rick said. "The armory is right next to Deanna's. I'll back you up."

"No. You're the constable and Carl's dad. People know you. They'll notice if you're gone."

"Well, we can't use Daryl," Rick said with a wave of his hand. "After that fight, they're watching his every move."

"I can do this solo. In and out," Carol said.

"Here they come," Daryl said. He lifted his crossbow.

"Let me," Carol said. She pulled her weapon and shot five times — four in the chest and one final headshot.

Rick and Daryl stared at her.

"We said you were taking me out shooting." She smiled. "Couldn't go back with a full mag."

Always thinking. Maybe the survival skills of abused wives who learned how to survive were like those needed to survive now.

* * *

A party. The dead were trying to kill them, people were trying to kill them, and these people were having a party. What were they trying to prove? Rick followed Carol through the door still unable to get over this place. Having shelter, safety, and food were lifesavers, game-changers in this world, but the small things threw him for a loop. When they were on the road, and even back at the prison, their clothes always had a whiff of a mildew odor to them. They always tortured themselves with dreams of luxury items in this new world. Back at the prison the women — whether they were the domestic type or not — wanted a washing machine. Probably had more to do with hygiene than anything else. He was sure there was a part of his first wife that never forgave him for buying a washer and dryer at Christmas. He figured it was a generational thing because her mother thought it was nice considering she always complained about their appliances. Now he was in a room full of people with smells of Tide and perfume filling his nostrils while he wore a crisp white shirt and trousers.

He surveyed the room. Elvis Costello played at a low decibel. People milled about laughing, a few even danced on the other side of the room. Food and drinks — beer, wine, and water — were on a table. Meatballs, some kind of casserole, and even when the world was nothing you couldn't get away from pigs in a blanket.

He made eye contact with Deanna and next to her was Michonne. White always looked so fucking good on her. The dress hugged her body which made her weight loss noticeable. Deanna motioned for him.

"Wait for me before you leave," he said in Carol's ear.

Deanna had a big smile on her face as he approached; her husband had a matching expression. The only one not watching him and looking less than thrilled was Michonne.

"Rick, I'd like you to meet my husband, Reg."

Reg looked every bit of the professor she claimed him to be with his sweater vest, tweed jacket, and thin wire-rimmed glasses. "You're a remarkable guy."

"How's that?"

"I watched the tapes. The way you saved all those people, the things you did for them," he said. "They had nothing but great things to say about you."

"Well, you built that wall out there didn't you?" He focused on Reg, but he could feel Michonne's eyes on him.

"I did, and it's a wonderful achievement, but it's a wall. All those lives in this world. That's something special."

Deanna stepped between the two of them. "You're both remarkable. How about that? Rick, this is Michonne," she said as she placed her arm around her. "She's one the other run crew. But she's another example of how what we were in our past life matters now — she was a lawyer. She's helping me put together the bylaws for Alexandria. That's why I want you to work closely with her."

"Back when we were who we used to be she and I didn't get along." He could see Michonne stiffen.

"How so?" Reg asked with a smile on his face.

"Cops and lawyers," Rick said.

Michonne bit down on her lip and looked up at him, a little defiant and there was that fire. He knew not even this world could extinguish it. He could criticize almost anyone and anything in her life but not that, not her career. That was off limits, always had been.

"No, I suppose not," Deanna said with a smile. "But I think you two will balance each other out just fine."

"Here," Reg said as he offered Rick a glass.

"No, thanks. I'm okay."

"You don't have to be." He had a gentle voice, similar to Deanna's; they had probably been married so long they finished each other's sentences and never went to bed angry.

Reg was the second person to tell him it was okay to not be okay. Just another example of how this place made them soft. Out there, you didn't have time to not be okay. Only because he didn't want to give anyone a reason to worry, Rick took the glass and watched as Reg poured him a drink. He took a sip knowing the attention would be on him until he conformed to their way of thinking. When it went down his throat, his eyes involuntarily closed and he became reacquainted with the warm feeling he hadn't known in a long time. He was never a drunk, but he loved a good drink as much as he loved a good steak or a good cigar.

"There you go," Reg said as he lifted his own glass. "Welcome."

He could feel Michonne's eyes on him and he had every intention of glancing her way but found himself drawn by how she looked at him and for the first time, she was unreadable. All her usual tells were nonexistent.

"Where's your son?" Michonne asked.

"He met a couple of friends."

"I hope he's coming," Deanna said. "Carl is a wonderful young man."

Michonne nodded. "He is." She must have heard how wistful she sounded and looked over at Deanna. "I saw his interview."

He didn't trust himself to keep looking at Michonne so he focused his attention on Deanna and tried to smile like he meant it. "He'll be here."

"Rick, I want you to do what you did before — protect and serve. Patrol the area and maintain security, look out for the kids, sometimes they forget they can't do everything they did before. If there is a conflict, solve it. You need not look to me for the answers. That's your domain. That's why I want you and Michonne working hand in hand."

"Why is that, exactly?" Rick asked.

"Some actions will require consequences and people need to know what they'll be. It can't be something arbitrary thought up at the moment."

"How are you so sure they'll listen to me? I just got here."

"Because they want to believe in something bigger than themselves. Now more than ever, people respect order. Some didn't always value laws and social norms until they were gone, and once they were surrounded by chaos, they yearn for when they had it."

That sounded good if she meant it but he knew her idea of conflict and chaos was kids' fistfights and arguing over the last can of corn, not dealing with the danger this new world presented. The danger they apparently had yet to face or they wouldn't be so welcoming to strangers.

From across the room, near the door, Carol sipped a cup of punch and gave him a look. "If you'll excuse me," Rick said before walking off to join her.

"I'm heading out," Carol whispered.

He marveled at her ability to smile and speak at the same time like some damn ventriloquist. "Be careful."

She nodded. Once the door closed, he scanned the room to see one pair of eyes on him — Michonne. Unlike most people caught staring she didn't look away. She wanted him to know she was watching. She knew nothing but they would have to be more careful. Her intuition had always told her things most people didn't detect. In an attempt to throw her off, to make it seem all was innocent, he held her stare. Shifty stares signaled guilt. The connection broke when she walked off. One thing was sure, she was not as screwed up as the rest of these oblivious people.

* * *

Generic music, bland food, and booze — it reminded her of some functions she attended back in Georgia. She spent as much time glad-handing as she did racking up billable hours. Rick only attended one of those events and that was when she was honored with a community service award. Her functions were a different atmosphere than the countless police cookouts and Super Bowl parties Rick dragged her to in the name of camaraderie.

His furtive looks at her didn't go unnoticed. It felt like each time she looked in his direction he was already looking at her. Maybe that would have been encouraging if she didn't know how to read him. They did eye contact well — during jokes, sex, and arguments. Like when they saw each other earlier, she saw the coldness in his eyes. Like the saying goes if looks could kill.

Michonne wandered over to the food table looking over options that were half decent after being out for over an hour. She didn't trust the cheese spread, so she went for a couple of meatballs and some olives. It wasn't anything she'd be happy eating if she had options but she needed something now that she was going on her third glass of wine. As she poured, a conversation became noticeable.

Olivia, Spencer, Carter, and a few other Alexandrians were in a huddle near the fireplace.

"What do you think, Carter?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know. I'm just seeing them in person for the first time."

Michonne sipped on her wine as she listened.

"Well, they sure clean up nice," Spencer said, and the men laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, especially that Rosita," someone said.

"I think we should all try," Michonne said as she took a few steps and joined them.

"You trust them?" Spencer asked. "Already? They come in and just like that," he said with a snap of his fingers. "My mom treats them like they've been here from the start. Siding with one of them over her own son."

She wasn't sure why Spencer cared all that much. He wasn't one for worrying about the community or what he could do to protect it or even make it better. In fact, that was the case with all of them. They lived comfortably and complained. All except Olivia who worked with no complaints, often waking up in the middle of the night for supply intake and distribution.

"Deanna is smart," Olivia said. "She's never led us wrong."

"Well, I like Carol," one woman said. "She's nice. Do you know she's already helping in the kitchen?"

They all nodded. Michonne didn't see what others saw in Carol. While the others in the group all seemed to have something about them, some kind of stain that made them less than perfect, giving a cause for concern, she found Carol to be anodyne.

"Aaron is a good judge of character," Michonne said. She had her reservations too, but there was no need to get them riled up and nervous for no reason.

"I don't know about two of them," one man said.

Michonne held her breath knowing at least one of the two would be Rick. It wasn't new. Back in the day, Rick intimidated some of her male work associates. They never said anything, but they stood up straighter and their voices got deeper when he was around.

"Daryl is weird."

"Their leader, Rick," said another with a shake of her head. "He scares me." She hugged herself. "The way he looks at people. I've seen him smile once, and it was like an afterthought. Like, insert smile here."

That, she could understand. They didn't know him any other way but this way. Mysterious, brooding. The interviews were open to anyone who wanted to watch them and once they saw Rick's, rumors spread and the more they spread the crazier they got, like a morbid game of telephone. Rick turned into a real-life version of a Johnny Cash song. But tonight he seemed normal, at least to the untrained eye that didn't know Rick Grimes. She took note as he stiffened and followed his line of sight until she landed on Jessie and her family.

"There's Jessie," a woman said. "She cut Rick's hair. She seems to like him. Thinks he's nice, just going through some stuff."

"That's bullshit," Spencer said. "We're all going through stuff. We don't walk around acting like they do."

She subtly removed herself from the group and moved on to the table with the drinks and poured a cup of water. She was only at this party at Deanna's request and wondered how much longer she needed to show her face before she could leave. She was the guest of honor at one of these parties and it was painful so she understood the discomfort she saw in Abraham, Rosita, and Noah. Instead of trying to comfort them she left them alone, which was the most comforting thing you could do for someone in this situation.

At some point, Carl arrived, and she smiled watching him laugh and hang with a few of the other teens. That was what his life should be, and she felt bad about all the things he would never experience. Back in Georgia, he admired the high school kids. He talked about having his own letterman's jacket and attending the annual bonfire the kids had the night before the homecoming game. But he was safe, fed, and even happy, at least at the moment, and that was all anyone could ask for now.

She watched him. Watched him with his new friends. Watched him with the people who helped to keep him alive and then finally watched him with Rick. The same dynamic was there. Rick was never shy about showing affection for his son. Pats on the back, hand on the shoulder, hugs, hand on the back of his head. She saw it all as they talked, occasionally looking her way and then Carl made his way toward her. He was taller and his hair was longer. She was never fond of hair that long on a boy but she liked it on him. A trim wouldn't hurt though. He stood a few feet away from her at the table.

"Hi," she said so softly she could barely hear her own voice.

"Hi." He looked over the options on the table and picked up a beer.

She took it from him and handed him a bottled water. "This is more to your taste."

"Just looking." He smiled just a little and so did she. "Though I'm an adult in every way. If I can carry a gun, then I should be able to handle a beer."

She pushed his hair off his forehead, out of his eyes so she could better see the sparkle in those eyes as he smiled. "Such a good boy."

He stiffened. "I'm not a kid."

"Of course not." Quickly she pulled back, not wanting to cross boundaries when she didn't know what they were. She realized maybe she already did. He looked around the room avoiding contact even when looking in her direction. There was so much she wanted to say and even more she wanted to hear. What had his life been like since his world changed both times — after she left Georgia and when society fell? She wanted to know his thoughts on it all. He was always a thinker, and she knew there were endless questions and opinions in that big brain of his. That's what made her love him like he was her own from the start.

Suddenly a voice, loud and shrill, rose above the dull chatter of the room. "That worries you? _That's_ what you worry about?"

She turned to see Sasha wide-eyed and wild glaring at people before running out the door. In her wake, she left a room full of people who didn't know why she was angry. She knew that pain; had experienced that pain. After being out in the world for a long time Michonne couldn't imagine these people and their complacency when she first arrived. Watching Sasha's video was hard, but seeing the pain radiate from her skin in person was painful.

The room got quiet. Maggie and Glenn were standing with Pete and Jessie. She could see the empathy on Maggie's face while Jessie and Pete looked mortified. In fact, as she looked around the room there were two faces — the face of those who had been out there and the face of the ones who didn't see out there for what it was, a war zone. Carl held his head down and walked over to Maggie and Glenn. Michonne placed her cup on a table and headed outside after Sasha, hoping to catch up with her. She stood at the top of the steps looking for Sasha when she realized she wasn't alone. There was movement off to the right of her and she spun; she was still jumpy from being out on that run. Rick was standing in the shadows in the back corner of the porch. He stared at her then headed for the door.

"I come out and you go in? Don't be petty, Rick." She shook her head, a little annoyed with him as she looked up and down the street hoping she'd catch a glance of Sasha, but she was gone.

"Excuse me?"

She turned and looked at him as she leaned against the railing with her arms crossed. Apparently, crossing her arms was a defensive posture, and it meant she was closed off. That was one of three things she remembered from the one marriage counseling session she and Rick attended. So she placed them on the railing. "Alexandria is too small for you to behave this way." She took a deep breath. "Acting like we don't know each other. How long do you think that can last?"

"As long as you want, I guess. I notice you didn't mention it to Deanna."

Since he arrived all she thought about was Rick and Carl. How to make her presence the least shocking as possible to them. How to be mindful of Rick's feelings and what he'd been through. But in his eyes, she was probably still as selfish as he believed her to be in their relationship. Getting into an argument would not help the situation. She didn't want to walk around on eggshells in the one place on this Earth she knew peace existed. The one place she could sleep through the night since the world changed.

"Carl looks great." He said nothing, so she walked over to him. "How am I the bad guy here?"

He gave her a pointed look.

"Careful," she said, hoping to quell the tension with a facetious reply but he didn't relax even a little.

There he was being the strong silent type, above it all when, really, in his mind were hundreds of words he wanted to say. And he would, eventually; he'd let them fester until he couldn't take it anymore. But by the time he said them, they were culled down to a few sharp ones. It was quality over quantity when Rick was in an argument. He was efficient and made every word hurt. She knew it wasn't intentional. He was just a good guy who had a skill for getting right to the point of what he was feeling without a filter.

"Rick, I'm asking can you please let me…" Let her what? Be Carl's step-mom again? Be his friend again? "Let me be a part of his life in whatever way he's okay with. He seems like he's okay."

"No."

"I'm not some stranger. I took care of him when he was sick. I went to his Little League games. What's wrong with having someone else who is family?"

"He has his family. Me, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, Carol. He has all the family he needs."

He stepped closer to her and, whether he realized it, he was using his body to intimidate her. She was shocked, angry, and disappointed by everything he had said and done since he arrived in Alexandria. With death all around them, every good person was an asset. She was not the enemy. The world was shit, but he still found it necessary to be cruel enough to deny her a relationship with Carl.

She took a couple of steps back, putting space between them. Space enough for her to breathe. "In some ways, you're still the Rick I knew and in others, I don't even know who you are." Right now neither version of him impressed her.

"I don't know what that means." He shrugged.

He wasn't willing to have a conversation with her that would amount to anything so she headed down the steps but stopped and looked back up at him. "You and Carl aren't the same."


	4. Breaking Bad

_**A/N** : Thank you all for reading and commenting. I have to say, member00 your comments give me life. They actually help me because I feel like I'm working through the story when I read your comments. And titaneos whenever you feel comfortable, chime in. If not, I still appreciate you taking the time to read my stories. That goes for anyone reading. _

* * *

Michonne headed to the gate with Deanna, who carried a rifle and a box of ammo. It looked weird seeing her that way. Even in this new world where everyone should carry a gun and be thankful to have one, Deanna looked awkward. Michonne wondered if Deanna voted for or against the Iraq War.

"Given her state of mind, I'm not sure I should even give this to her," Deanna said.

"Survival is her state of mind," Michonne said.

Deanna glanced at her.

"You think she'll go out and hurt herself?" Surely while her group was out on the road, she could have strayed off and handled that. She wouldn't go through that brutal trek from Georgia and then finally blow her brains out once she reached a safe place.

When they arrived, Sasha was leaning against the wall looking at the world on the other side of the gate. Michonne knew she was anxious, but it appeared there was a look of longing on Sasha's face. Like she'd been caged up and was itching to be free. She was out shooting yesterday as well. She was wearing an olive load bearing suspenders and belt complete with a canteen attached and sitting at the small of her back. A black bag was on her shoulder. She held her hand out for her rifle but Deanna was slow to hand it over and Sasha shook her head. This was a woman who refused to mollify others. Michonne appreciated that quality, especially in women.

"I'm trying to figure out what it is you see or don't see," Deanna said.

"This," Sasha said and looked around the community. "This isn't real." Her hushed tone was grave and her words ominous. Her eyes were large pleading maybe straining to see some sense in Deanna as she tried to press upon her to wake up to the truth.

"Sasha, I know you've been through a lot and I'm sympathetic to that," Deanna said. "But what you said, that's bullshit." She handed the ammo and rifle to Sasha.

Sasha looked at Michonne for the first time and they held each other's stare. Michonne wanted to say something to her but Deanna's presence meant it wasn't the right time. Instead, she watched Sasha walk away.

Deanna closed the gate with a look on her face. Michonne wasn't sure if Sasha's words angered Deanna or worried her but she walked off without another word. Michonne found herself alone, watching Sasha until she disappeared. Deanna called Sasha's skepticism of this place bullshit, but Michonne was never under the illusion that what happened at other settlements couldn't happen in Alexandria. She watched several destroyed due to outside forces — biters and humans — and watched a couple that imploded from unresolved differences of opinions. The male ego was deadly.

Michonne rarely took it upon herself to look out for people on a personal level in Alexandria for various reasons. Mostly because everyone walked around like life was perfect. However, like Waltman, there was something about Sasha. Michonne wanted her to be okay. Maybe because so many women who spent an extended amount of time out there seldom were. Also, Sasha reminded her of herself in two ways. After being out in the world for a long time, like Sasha, when Michonne arrived in Alexandria she couldn't understand these people; it was like playing house. And then there was the loneliness. Though she was surrounded by people, clearly, Sasha was alone.

She ventured outside the gates. The weather was getting cooler. The leaves were changing and there was a bed of them on the ground. This was her favorite time of the year. She inhaled deeply as she looked up at the sky and imagined now was the time coffee shops and grocery aisles were filled with pumpkin everything. Rick gave her hell for her love of pumpkin and said people who drank pumpkin spice lattes were more likely to join a cult. It was true, he said, he read it in a law enforcement journal.

She imagined she'd covered about half a mile. No one spent much time outside the walls especially not this far away from the community. The only person who made trips out here on her own was Enid. As far as Michonne was concerned, what that kid did out here was her business. She told no one about Enid's trips, didn't even bother to mention it to Enid. If that's what she needed, so be it. And Michonne understood it. Life out there was beyond hard and Enid survived out there alone. She could handle herself and Michonne wouldn't patronize her by treating her like a stupid kid who didn't know the danger.

She could hear whatever Sasha was shooting shatter with each bullet fired. Just as she got Sasha in her eyesight she stepped on a branch. "Shit," she muttered as the sound of the snap. She froze and grimaced at her stupidity. She'd been out there long enough to know how to be stealth. Besides, startling someone who was sending out rapid bursts was suicidal.

"Who's there? Come out," Sasha yelled. Her eyes darted around the area looking for danger.

"Just me." Michonne came out from behind a tree with her hands up. Sasha pointed the rifle in her direction. "It's me, Michonne."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for any company." She cradled the rifle in front of her like a kid squeezing her favorite toy, except this was no stuffed animal.

Michonne stepped closer and kept walking until she was between Sasha and her pile of targets. She eyed the pictures on the ground, glass shattered, faces ripped to shreds by bullets. The framed pictures were of actual people, kind of fucked up but it's was a fucked up world so she could roll with it. "I don't think you have to worry about losing your aim." She was an impressive marksman.

Sasha's head fell down, and she looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact.

"Where did you learn to shoot?"

"I thought Deanna did all the interrogating."

Michonne chuckled. "Just a question."

Sasha made a show of letting her know Michonne annoyed her. A huff and a loud sigh. She didn't want to be bothered, she made it clear. She had no interest in a conversation.

"It's just a question." Michonne reiterated.

"I belonged to a rifle and gun club back home." Sasha tossed a hand in Michonne's direction. "You can put your hands down."

Michonne was stunned. Sometimes she made up a past life for people. Some of them made no sense because they weren't based on conversations or someone's personality. When she knew little about them it was like playing dress up. Astronaut Barbie. Registered Nurse Barbie. Computer Engineer Barbie. Unlike her friends, Sasha didn't offer much about herself during her interview with Deanna. So in Michonne's mind, Sasha was a former high school cheerleader who went to college and became an accountant. She was beautiful but low maintenance, the exact opposite of Rosita who was probably never without makeup before the world changed. Rosita probably continued wearing lipstick after the world turned to hell until she ran out.

"What?" Sasha's clipped voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I wasn't expecting that. Where was home?"

"Florida."

"I learned-"

Sasha shook her head. "I don't care. We're not friends." She shrugged and looked Michonne up and down. "You're just a person in a place that won't be here for long," she said before looking through her scope again.

Waltman was right. Whatever happened out there affected Sasha in a way it didn't for the others. The others seemed to be hopeful for a future, or at least thought it was possible, but Sasha saw none.

"You put on quite the show last night at Deanna's party." When Sasha didn't respond she continued. "I know what it's like to see people happy and smiling. It makes you feel alone. Like there must be something wrong with you because you can't relax like the rest of them."

"There's nothing wrong with me. There's something wrong with you. You people with your pedicures, your book club, and perfectly curated playlists are the problem. That's what you people care about and it's ridiculous. It will get you killed."

"We know how fortunate we are. We know what it's like out there."

She dropped the rifle from her face and walked over and stood square before Michonne. "Do you? Do _you_? Or have you heard the stories of others and made them your own? Have you ever washed your friends' blood off your face? Had your hands stained with the blood of your friend you tried to save because it was in their guts trying to keep them from bleeding out? What do _you_ know about life out there?"

Michonne didn't take it personally. Sasha was in pain and that pain made her angry. Angry enough to lash out at someone trying to befriend her. What she said, that wasn't something off the top of her head, to think of Sasha doing those things made Michonne hurt even though she had her own war stories.

"I know what it's like out there. In some ways, probably more than you. Were you ever a single woman alone out there?" She could see Sasha pause. She had her attention, and she aimed to keep it but she was clear to remain calm and gentle despite Sasha's own anger. "I was. You probably don't know what that's like and I pray you never do. I had to dig down deep and use what I could and what I didn't have I had to develop. I made myself into a weapon. I found strength in myself I didn't know existed. All of our experiences aren't the same but we're all survivors." She pointed toward Alexandria. "The people inside those walls will not apologize because they didn't have it as hard as you. They don't owe you that."

They stared at each other a few moments and Michonne turned and walked away when it was obvious Sasha wasn't talking. Whether Sasha would admit it, Michonne knew she got in her head. But she wouldn't push it. It would take patience, the same patience Deanna extended to her. A broken heart wouldn't heal overnight and neither would a crushed spirit.

She paused and looked toward Sasha. "Anytime you want to talk or anything…"

The sounds of bullets drowned out the end of Michonne's invitation. A biter headed her way, and she unsheathed her sword and waited for him to come for her. Just as she raised her arms over her head it fell to the ground as she registered the sound of the rifle. Quickly she turned to see Sasha with the rifle up to her face.

* * *

Once again they were in the woods near the junk pile having what Rick hoped would be their last secret meeting outside the walls. The least amount of suspicious activity the better especially now that he was in a position of trust. Within days he had become a symbol in the community, while that would allow him access, it already made him someone people knew of. Already random people on the street said his name as they greeted him in passing.

Carol stood before Daryl with a Ruger in one hand and a Sig Sauer in the other.

"There's a Glock in my bag," she said.

Daryl shook his head. "You know, I was thinking," he said as he held onto the grip of his crossbow. "Do we really need these? If things go bad, sure we do what we gotta do." He shrugged. "But like you said, we don't need those to handle these people."

Rick knew Daryl was off, had been since they hit the road for Virginia. It was like he lost something back there in Atlanta that he hadn't recovered from since. Like Maggie, Daryl lost Beth twice and from where Rick stood he had a harder time than Maggie recovering from it.

"Right now we don't," Carol said.

"What if we're caught and they want to kick us out?" Daryl asked.

"Like Rick said, we'll just take this place. These people aren't anything to worry about," Carol said.

"Maybe that chick, what's her name? Michonne?" Daryl mispronounced her name but Rick held back in correcting him.

"Neither is she," Carol said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"No. Don't underestimate her," Rick said. "It would be a mistake." He taught her how to shoot a weapon and he remembered ending up on his back many times when she wanted to practice her Krav Maga.

"Why? What do you know?" Carol frowned at him.

There was no reason to tell the others about his past with her. Not yet anyway. Maybe never.

"I saw her walking around with a sword," Daryl said. "What more you need to know?"

Carol and Rick glanced at each other. Rick hadn't seen the sword, he'd only seen her at the party since their first encounter. She seemed to make herself scarce. He didn't know what she did. But per Deanna's request, they were to work together.

Daryl looked at Carol. "You wanted me to try, right?"

Annoyed, she offered them to Rick. He looked down and hesitated, wondering which he should take or if he should take one at all. One thing was for sure, he wasn't used to being without a gun. Better to have one and not need it than need it and not have it. Frankly, it was irresponsible of these people. Danger didn't take a timeout while you went to get your gun. He looked up at Daryl before taking the Ruger and secured it in the small of his back hidden out of sight by his constable jacket.

"I don't get you," Daryl said.

Rick expected to look up and see Daryl looking at him, but Carol was the focus of his stare.

"One minute you're saying we need the guns and the next you're saying these people ain't nothing to worry about. Do you even know what you think?"

Rick thought back to the first meeting they had out in the woods. Daryl mostly remained silent which was nothing new, but now Rick thought there was a reason for his silence at that meeting. He wasn't sure Daryl was against this place. Sure, he was antisocial, but he didn't seem as concerned as Rick and Carol had always felt. Maybe, just maybe, Daryl wanted it but didn't believe it was something he could have or even deserved, instead deciding to fight off disappointment before it took root. He wouldn't be the first person to go through life that way.

"It doesn't matter. Maybe it won't be these people but it'll be somebody or something. It always is. Like the Governor or the group you were with when you came across Rick, Carl, and Tyreese."

That was the night Rick thought he may have lost his son for good. Carl barely looked at him. What he did wasn't human. He turned into an animal. Daryl tried to convince him anyone would have done what he did, but not that. He was sure. It took time for his relationship with Carl to go back to normal.

"Why do you do this?" Daryl pointed at her clothes.

"Because these people are like children. All they want to hear is a nice story."

"And what story did you tell?"

"A housewife who misses her husband and loves to take care of people."

Rick could understand playing the role of the unassuming woman but it seemed sadistic to bring up the husband. Then again, maybe a mild-mannered housewife was the safe bet.

"We better get back before someone misses you," Carol said as she looked at Rick. "We're not out here pretending you're teaching me to shoot."

When they made it back to Alexandria, they went their separate ways. Life was on a loop inside these walls. At the prison, there was more variety to the day. But here, it was the same. He saw the woman walking the black labrador. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear children playing even though he didn't see them. Then there were the Andersons. The two boys ran ahead as Jessie and Pete brought up the rear.

"Hey, Rick," Jessie waved as they kept walking.

He waved and returned the smile only Jessie offered. He walked around the community a few times, stopped to chat with a few people who were standing around gossiping. He spent most of his time at the armory and pantry with Olivia checking to see if there was something the community needed. She assured him they were well stocked, but the things he thought about these people didn't. That was why being out there wasn't desirable but valuable.

In the past, after a shift, he wanted to sit on his couch and relax, but here all he did was walk and he still wasn't comfortable just sitting around. Not here, not with these people. There was so much to learn about how they operated. He feared there was a gaping hole in security that made them vulnerable and he hadn't found it yet. But he needed to before there was a breach. There was a knock on the door and standing on the other side was Pete holding two bottles of beer.

"Hey, Rick. Have a beer with me." He made his way into the house after Rick made the mistake of stepping aside as if that was an invitation.

"No, thanks."

"Come on. You can have one. Don't let me drink alone. Don't tell me it's because you're still on duty."

Rick figured Pete's solitary drinking happened often, and it was probably just how he liked it. "I kinda always am."

"Not at Deanna's party." He punched Rick on the shoulder. "I saw you," Pete said.

Rick waited to see what he was talking about. Rick's mind drifted back to the conversation he had with Jessie at the party. She convinced him having a party as the world destroyed itself was the wrong way to think of the evening. In her eyes, it was a way to bond and it would foster trust.

"You had some. I saw you drinking with Reg."

Rick laughed, not out of amusement but to mimic Pete's actions. It made people comfortable enough to let their guard down when others mimicked them.

"I'm sorry," Pete said as he leaned against the support beam near the stairs. "I heard you lost people out there."

This place was not one where secrets could live in privacy as they were meant to. He nodded his head as he looked at Pete, trying to figure out this guy's angle. Why he was here. What he was hoping to get out of this visit. Pete stared back at him and silently they checked each other out and it looked like it would be a battle of egos until Pete blinked first and looked away.

Pete lay his head back against the beam and closed his eyes briefly. "You're like rock stars with everything you people have been through. I'm sure it looks like we haven't lost much, but we have. We've lost things. I lost a beautiful home." He waved his arm and looked around the room. "Much nicer than this. I had to leave behind my baby. Couldn't get to her. Brand new. Less than five thousand miles. Black. Porsche Panamera."

"I'm sure that hurt," Rick said, but he wanted to punch this guy in the face. He hadn't thought about the material things he lost; he focused on making sure he didn't lose those he loved.

"And there are things we're fighting like hell to hold on to. I will not lose another thing."

"Yeah," Rick said.

"It's not like anything happens around here, but thanks for being the constable. We keep growing like this and we'll need even more. Eventually, I'm sure Aaron will make another mistake with bringing back the wrong kind."

"The wrong kind?"

"Some people can't handle a place like this where we police our own." He laughed. "No pun intended. But it works because people so far know how to mind their own business." He stepped closer to Rick, too close, in his personal space. "Let's be friends, man."

It sounded less like an invitation to friendship and more like a warning. He was a doctor, the kind of guy that tried to be nice but his true self came out, especially when he was drinking. He was arrogant and self-absorbed. He tried to pretend he cared about others but it was always about him. He was a dick. He never understood why good women fell for abusive men.

"I was serious about your boy coming in for a checkup." Hit tapped Rick on the chest and headed for the door.

"That'd be nice, Pete." He followed him to the door and closed it behind him. There was no way he'd let that asshole touch his son unless it was life or death.

* * *

"I'm sorry to lose you, Tobin," Deanna said as she placed her hand on his shoulder. She traded pointed looks with Reg; they seemed to carry on a silent conversation. You'd expect no less after almost thirty-five years of marriage.

Michonne stood on the threshold of the room arms folded as Tobin detailed the danger they encountered while outside the gates working and why he was abdicating his position as leader of the construction crew. Waltman was part of that crew and Michonne would get his version of the story, but she imagined Tobin told the truth. No one lied to make themselves look like a coward, and that's what Tobin was when his crew needed him.

"Are you sure?" Reg asked. He sat with his legs crossed wearing that sweater. Michonne always felt he was missing a pipe. He was the consummate politician's spouse — always by Deanna's side. Often whispering in someone's ear the things Deanna wanted them to hear without having to be the one who said it.

"More than anything since this world changed. If Abraham had followed my orders, Francine would be dead."

Reg shifted in his chair. "Well, saving someone is noble, but it doesn't make him qualified to lead a construction crew."

"They're still out there working and he's leading them and I'll follow him too if he'll have me."

"Well, okay," Deanna said as she stood. "I'll speak to Abraham and make it official when he returns."

Tobin offered a smile to everyone before heading for the door. Reg walked out with him surely to offer ego-soothing words.

Deanna sat back down, her head bowed and her hands clasped together.

"He's right," Maggie whispered. "Abraham won't let you down."

Deanna laughed. It signified anything but joy. She probably laughed to keep herself from yelling or crying. Deanna liked to be in control not in a dictatorial manner, but more like a Type-A manner to feel order.

"I put another one of your people in a position of power and you vouch for them. It's becoming a pattern."

"That's why you wanted us here," Maggie said. "We know what we're doing."

"Construction is vital to this community. You think Abraham has the skills to handle that? You think he's a leader?"

"There's something you should know about this group. It doesn't matter if we're in leadership positions," Maggie said. "No matter what we're doing, who we are will rise and show itself and people will be attracted to it. My daddy said leadership isn't a position, it's how you act. It's a mindset. Told me never to wait on a title to be a leader and that's what Abraham did out there today. He led by example and that's why they followed."

Deanna turned her head in Michonne's direction. "What do you think?"

Michonne looked at Maggie and then back at Deanna."Not long ago I was them. You trusted me and I hope I have done nothing to make you regret it." Michonne was opinionated and rarely hesitated to make decisions without consulting Deanna when it was necessary. At times, Deanna spent too much time discussing the pros and cons like she was in the House Chamber instead of pulling the figurative trigger. Seemed that's what Abraham did.

"No, of course not."

"The way I see it, they're doing — they are — exactly what you wanted them to be. You said yourself this place would grow and we need strong people to make that happen."

Maggie smiled at Michonne, maybe thanking her for being on their side. But Michonne was loyal to doing the right thing. Maggie looked at Deanna. "We want to help. If you don't let us we're as useless as a Junebug in July."

Michonne smiled. If this group was a threat to the community, and anyone fooled her, it would be Maggie. Whether it was her pain in her interview with Deanna or her unwavering support for her group, she seemed genuine.

"I'm gonna get back to work on those field plans." Maggie tossed Deanna a sympathetic smile then made her way out of the room and down to the basement.

"Field plans?" Michonne asked once they were alone.

"Maggie grew up on a farm. She wants to put the seeds you came back with to use. Grow crops."

Michonne nodded. "Good idea." With Deanna's vision of expanding the community, scavenging for food would no longer be good enough. They had the space to grow their own, and it was best to figure it out before they starved.

"Apparently they're full of ideas for this place."

Michonne detected despair maybe even annoyance in Deanna's voice. "What are you having a hard time with? That she thinks her people should be in positions of power or that you agree?"

"What?"

"I'm thinking you didn't think about what it would feel like for them to stake their claim." She thought it would take time and it would take a little more than taking over the construction crew for Deanna to feel uncertain about her decision. She figured it wouldn't be until Rick gunned for Deanna's role. But now, Deanna probably thought she was losing this place one position at a time. That they were usurping her power in the most calculated way — by getting her to give it to them.

"I'm not nearly as insecure as you're saying," Deanna said. She walked away, leaving Michonne alone.

Headed back to her townhome she saw Rick walking toward her wearing the constable uniform. She expected him to turn and walk in the opposite direction or at least cross the street but he headed her way with a walk and a look of determination.

"We need to talk," he said. "I'll see you later tonight." He didn't break stride.

Rick wanted to talk to her and suddenly she was nervous and excited. He always brought on a multitude of emotions in her. Whether it was love and fear or anger and desire.

* * *

Michonne fiddled around her townhome waiting on Rick to come over wondering what he wanted to talk about. There were quite a few topics on the top of her head. She wanted to talk about Carl. She wanted her and Rick to put their differences aside if not fix them because what was going on in the world was bigger than them or their relationship. She never meant to cause him any pain. But he wasn't the only one that hurt. Every day she was without her family she hurt too. She wanted him to know that. Maybe he needed to know it. But she feared it wouldn't make a difference to him.

The sun had set; the sky went black and still no Rick. She'd given up hope as she placed her teacup in the sink. She was just about to turn off the lights she hardly kept on but wanted to signal to Rick she was up when a loud bang on her door caused her to jump.

"Damn police. They all knock the same. Probably teach that shit in the academy." She never imagined she'd date a cop much less marry one. The door was barely open before he spoke in a fast clip.

"You said Carl and me, that we're not the same. What did that mean?"

"Whatever you're feeling that's your right to feel, but it doesn't mean he feels the same."

Carl didn't react the way she feared even if it wasn't the warm welcome she dreamed to have. But it was understandable. They had been a part for a while. She left, and he probably had a lot of questions, not to mention Carl would always be loyal to his father. She didn't want him to side with her over his father, she just hoped there was still room in his heart for her. That it wasn't all or nothing.

Rick stood there, and she took it as a positive sign, or as positive as any interaction between them could be considering his feelings about her. Most times he practically ran from her. She opened the door wider and stepped to the side, relieved when he accepted her invitation and entered. She inhaled the scent of him as he walked by. He smelled like soap and sandalwood and it took her back to their better times when he smelled so good she would bury her face in his neck and he'd laugh as she refused to let go. One time, he had to get dressed with her attached to him.

He was dressed in a white T-shirt and blue jeans but he still wore those awful boots that, by the look of them, were many miles beyond well-worn. Not expecting him to accept, she offered him a seat and to her surprise he wordlessly accepted, choosing to sit in the armchair that faced the room with its back closer to the fireplace. Just like when they would go out, he never sat with his back to the door. It was one of the many unwritten rules her father taught her to look out for when choosing a man. Rick passed them all with flying colors. Too bad unwritten rules weren't enough to make a marriage last.

"There's no one else here," she said. His head, as usual, was on a swivel as he took in his surroundings.

She looked at the pictures on the wall and occasionally glanced his way, checking to see if he was looking at her. Neither of them said a word. She didn't want to be the one to speak first, like in negotiations, the first to speak loses, but the silence was deafening and the longer it went on the more difficult she figured it would be for them to talk, potentially wasting an opportunity to move forward. He wanted to talk about more than the comment she made the previous night at the party or he wouldn't have come inside.

"From Georgia to here, every stop along the way we've dealt with bad people. Why should I believe this place is different?" He stood and walked over to the mantle. "Because you have candles and board games?"

"No, because we're good people. All of us, at least in the ways that matter now."

"The ways that matter, huh?" He looked her up and down. "What ways are those?"

"People who have it good and rather than keep it for themselves, extend their good fortune to others."

"You're just good people with good hearts?"

"Why would we welcome you in, take the risk, unless it was real?"

"The last time we went to a place that was supposed to be safe they almost ate us."

"What?"

"They were cannibals." She came across many kinds out there. Of all the things, and she thought she had seen it all, that was not something she experienced. People killed to survive off your weapons, food, and shelter, not your flesh. She wasn't sure if that was any worse than what she did see.

"This world is a chance for the worst to take control. It's like Disney World. Thieves, murderers… rapists. I've dealt with them all," she said hugging herself. She noticed the tiniest shift in him. His eyes narrowed slightly, his shoulders dropped as he looked at her.

"I made it though. Many people didn't, especially women. But I was lucky." She realized what assumptions may be swimming in his head and she didn't want false sympathy because he thought she was a victim. She survived — every attack, every misfortune, every loss.

"Deanna talks about her dreams," he said. "What she sees for this place and how to make it happen. She doesn't talk about how to survive long enough to make it happen."

"What do you mean?"

"What happens if this place gets overrun to the point you can't save it?"

"I came up with an exit plan," Michonne said. "There's a large warehouse about two miles away."

Rick held his head down and shook his head, hands on his hips. "If anyone knows about exit plans..." He looked at her and let out a derisive laugh. "I'm sure it's a great one. Kind of always seemed like you were planning your escape. I never saw it coming."

"Rick-"

"These people know they'll have to fend for themselves? I bet you got a go bag in a closet somewhere." He stepped toward her.

She stood up. "So because I walked out on you — your words — that means I would give up on these people. That's your opinion? The problem with you Rick is you make an arbitrary line and believe because people cross one they'll cross every line they come up against." She stepped toward him.

"If you think after all my people have been through that I'm supposed to let my guard down because someone from my past is here you've lost your mind. I don't know what your experience has been, but it hasn't been the same as mine. Or Carl. Carol. Daryl. Maggie. For all I know," he said as he stepped closer to her, invading her space. "You were part of the thieves and murderers."

They danced this dance before, angry and fighting and before long ripping each other's clothes off and having sex. But this wasn't Atlanta, and they weren't arguing over her Italian-silk blouse he ruined when he was trying to be nice and did her laundry.

"I'm gonna chalk some of this up to some form of intense PTSD. I know you hate me, but regardless of our past, to treat me like the enemy is a bit much considering there are people and the dead out there trying to kill us. Maybe you should focus on that."

"That's all I've ever focused on since the day this shit started." He looked around the room. "I sure as hell wasn't hanging pictures on the wall. Most times we never had a wall."

She studied him. The way he sneered. The way his eyes were full of fire. "What do you resent me for the most, Rick? Leaving you or being safe behind these walls while you were out there? Because you know what hurts me? That Carl had to spend even one day out there." She gently placed her hand on his arm. "Can we talk about Carl?"

He walked away. "What do you want to talk about? All the times I had to tell him it wasn't anything he did to make you leave?"

"It wasn't him." She shook her head. She'd always been afraid Carl would internalize their shit. She knew what it was like to be a child and struggle with adults' issues.

"Then he blamed me." Rick shrugged.

"Maybe we can talk to him together and explain things."

"Explain things," he said with a laugh. "Explain it to me first." She was about to speak but he continued on. "You left. What more is there?"

"You act like it was my decision to not be part of his life." He remained silent. "All you see when you look at me is the way it ended? That's what I've been reduced to?"

She let it pass when he spoke to her like she was some subordinate. He'd always been direct, and that was a good quality these days. What bothered her was the complete detachment in his voice when he spoke to her and the way he interacted with her — like she was a stranger. Not the woman who planned his mother's funeral because he and his father were too devastated to imagine their life without Brenda. Not the woman who sacrificed to be with him because, at times, she loved him more than she loved herself. Not the woman who loved his son as her own.

* * *

He paced the room thinking about what she said, that when he saw her he only thought of the bad. Actually, he saw it all, and that's what made it hurt so bad. Every time he saw her face it was a replay of his darkest times. It hurt like hell because this pain in his heart, in his bones, now that he was near her, felt new. It had barely been four months since she left them that the world went to shit. And during those four months, he wanted two things: for her to hurt like he did and to move on. So processing the end of his marriage never happened. Not out there on the run. Seeing her as more than the hurt she caused was hard. Sure, his mind still held memories of the happy times but he didn't see what purpose it served to revel in them.

"Can you please get over yourself and remember what Carl and I had? He was more than my husband's son. And I wasn't the lady his dad married."

What he wanted was for her to get over this desire to have a family reunion and concentrate on what was important, like not dying.

"Tell me about this Tobin."

She sighed heavily. "What about him?"

"What purpose does he serve this community? Because from what I know he can't be trusted. He's weak. I don't want him outside the gates anymore."

"That's not your decision to make."

"He deserted his crew. Left them behind."

"I know what you're talking about. He didn't desert them. He came back to tell Deanna what happened."

"That could have waited until the job was done. He left them a man short out there. You people don't know what you're doing."

Her head fell down. "Maybe Tobin's timing was off but his intentions were good," she said. "He put community before ego. He knew Abraham was a better man for the job and he admitted it. He stepped aside. Could you do that?"

"You're making this about me?"

"What is it, Rick? Are we evil or incompetent? You've gone from one to the other since you've been here."

He hated how she always said his name like there would be any confusion as to who she was talking to. It was like she was trying to make him feel connected to her or something by hearing his name come out of her mouth. But she had always been like that — calling his name even when they were the only two in the room. She said it when she was mad, when she was nervous, when… He shook his head because, why revel in the past?

"Everyone in Alexandria may not be fighters, not everyone has their shit together. We're all just trying to make it however we can. I mean, look at your people."

He frowned. "What about them? They know how to fight and they don't run when things get tough."

"Do they know how to live? Do they know how to be around people other than each other without wanting to kill? How to feel something other than the pain?"

"What are you talking about? See, this happens when you have too much time on your hands and nothing to do but sit on your ass. You make up problems. Things to worry about."

From the time he arrived, steadily she grew angrier. Now she was ready to explode. Her voice was at a fevered pitch. "You're supposed to be their leader but you're so caught up in yourself and your shit that you don't see your people."

"Now you know my people? What are you trying to say?"

"Sasha. She's hurting. She's in trouble."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He sneered.

"She's barely hanging on, Rick."

"Sasha bounces back. She's lost a lot but she'll be fine."

"Why? Because you hope so or because you say so? Did you see her at the party?"

She was defiant, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. The only thing to do was disengage. He reminded himself nothing good ever came of debating anything with Michonne. Because it was never a debate. It was an argument she wouldn't let die until she was the victor. Nothing was relative. It was absolute. Not that he had a good point, and she had a slightly better one. It was she won, and he lost. She was right, and he was wrong. She was itching for a fight, had been since the party last night. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

He headed for the door, slamming it behind him. He knew his people and even if he didn't she was the last person to counsel him. She knew nothing about who they were. Sasha was fine. They lost their home at the prison, then she lost the man she loved and her brother. If she walked around with a smile on her face acting like everything was okay, then he would worry. There was a steady breeze that worked to cool him off just a tad. At some point, he started sweating back there at her place. He loved this time of the year and he could enjoy it if Michonne hadn't pissed him off. She talked about being out there but her experience definitely wasn't like his group's experience, that's for sure. Or she'd been inside these walls too long to remember.

Heading back to the house he decided he'd check on Sasha because he let Michonne get in his head, he hated her for it. He wanted to see if he could catch some glimmer of what the hell she was talking about, but when he arrived back at the house Carol was standing on the porch.

He stood next to her and looked in the direction she was looking in and saw Jessie was on her porch alone. She was wrapped in a blanket rocking back and forth in a rocking chair. He was curious what made such a mundane moment catch Carol's attention. "What's going on?"

"Pete's hitting Jessie," Carol said.

"How do you know? Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't have to." She looked at Rick. "It was something Sam said. I know how this will end. The only way it can."

He stared at her, prepared to hear how Pete would kill Jessie.

"You're going to have to kill him."

He heard the air leave his lungs as Carol went inside, leaving Rick to watch Jessie as he took in what she said. It was casual the way she said it — kill him. Then again, that was how they spoke of killing these days. It was just something that had to be done. A well-oiled machine, or more like a tactical unit, they were effortless in their ability to take a life. If it had to be done, they did it and didn't waste time thinking about the ethics. The reality of life as it was now was that living meant killing.


	5. The Good Fight

**A/N** : Wow, I never meant to take this long between updates but the past month has been wild. Nothing bad, just eventful. Thanks for the patience as you know I love an angsty slow burn. But the melting of the ice caps will be here before you know it. Oh, and **atm0000** you made my heart smile with your last comment. Hope you guys enjoy.

* * *

A somber mood took over Alexandria. Two days ago they were having a party and now they were preparing for two funerals. This was the life Michonne understood, what anyone who lived out there understood. Time was not on their side. The average life expectancy was probably that of a Marine Corps lieutenant in the Vietnam War. Short. Michonne thought of all the things not done and words left unsaid because the crew all went out thinking they would return. Mother Nature adjusted to the mood. The sun had been out all day but it wasn't bright. It was just there. Michonne walked through the community and the streets were empty except for Carl sitting atop the gazebo. Out of respect for Rick, she hadn't approached Carl since the party but she couldn't handle doing it Rick's way as long as he continued to be an ass.

"Can I join you?" She asked.

Carl looked down. "Sure." He watched with amusement as she scaled the gazebo. She settled down next to him. Looking at his profile in the soft glow of the sun. He laughed with a shake of his head.

"You look surprised. You forgot who climbed General Oak with you?" She gave him a nudge.

"You were like Spider-Man." He took a deep breath then coughed. "You made it look so easy."

General Oak was a large tree at the lake near their house. Her tree-climbing skills were one reason Carl accepted her when they first met. Rick said she had an inner pre-teen boy that connected with Carl. She loved being outside, fishing, and didn't get squeamish about the worms. She even liked his pet lizard Hades.

"What are you doing up here?"

"You can see outside the walls. It looks so peaceful. I was just thinking of how Noah liked stuff like this. Looking at views like this, and imagining it's still possible to be how things were before."

"I'm sorry about Noah. He seemed like a good kid."

"He was. He went through a lot. He survived those people who kidnapped Beth and made it all the way here to find his family dead just to get killed by some idiot. I understand why my dad doesn't trust this place."

He mentioned kidnapping like it was normal. She was curious about it, and whoever this Beth was, and it broke her heart to know what he'd been through on the outside. She wanted to know; she wanted to know it all if he was willing to tell it. Whether he believed it, what he'd been through was traumatic and she didn't want to lead him down memories when she didn't know if he were ready to share.

"Not everyone is strong as you and your dad."

"Isn't it about time they learned? No one gets to coast."

"You're right but we have to remember people learn and change on their own time."

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Nothing is on our time anymore. We're on the world's schedule now."

He grew up. Was beyond his years. She was both proud and sad.

"Noah believed in this place. He wanted Reg to teach him how to build things and make this place stronger and bigger." He exhaled. "When we first got here, I told my dad this place will make us weak and that I don't want to be weak. We're strong," he said, looked over at Michonne. "This never would have happened if Glenn, Tara, Noah were alone. Not with our people. Whatever happened, it was because of these people."

She held her head down. "So you don't think this place is safe?" She wanted Carl to feel safe. She wanted him to like Alexandria and hopefully like her too.

"I think you've been lucky. Lucky you haven't run across the people we have."

"What people?"

"Like the Governor. He attacked the prison with Army tanks."

"The prison?"

"That's where we lived in Georgia after a herd took over the farm. We found the farm when I was shot."

"You were shot?"

"Yeah. Dad too. Then there were the guys who wanted to kill us when we were on our way to Terminus. This guy was going to kill us and dad killed him by biting his neck. Then we got to Terminus, and they wanted to eat us. They cut off Bob's leg and ate it in front of him. We killed them like all the others."

He spoke of the most horrible things with a casual tone.

"Wait. I'm sorry. Back up. Your dad bit someone's neck?"

"It was more than that. He bit it so hard blood was gushing. He had the guy's skin in his teeth." He looked down. "He felt bad about how I would handle it but he did it for me. One of them had a gun to my head."

"I knew you'd been through a lot. I didn't know it was this much." He barely scratched the surface in his interview with Deanna. When she found herself in bad situations out there, she was often grateful he wasn't with her to suffer through the horrible things, but it turned out his survival was equally harrowing. She turned her head and looked up hoping to fight off gravity and force the tears to go back from where they came. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I am. I wasn't but now I am."

He wasn't. What did that mean?

"I'm surprised you joined me."

"Why?"

"You've been avoiding me since the party."

"I wasn't sure how to handle things. I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk to me because things happened."

"Things happened?" There was the faintest of smiles playing on his lips. "Things don't just happen."

"Okay, I left your dad, but I didn't leave you."

"You did. I know what you're saying. You didn't leave because of me, but you left me too."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't know why exactly. I heard you guys argue and then nothing. When you guys stopped talking to each other and, believe it or not, that felt worse than the arguments."

She and Rick tried so hard to not fight around Carl. On that, they could agree. It looks like they weren't as successful as they thought.

"Because it felt like you stopped trying to tell each other your side. Like you gave up. It was scary being a kid in a silent house. I was afraid to talk because I didn't know what was wrong and I didn't want to say anything wrong."

The trauma they caused him, it was more than she realized. "I know you were probably mad at me for leaving."

"I was angry and hurt but it wasn't at you, at least not completely. I was mad at him too."

She listened because he deserved to say what he probably bottled up for so long.

"I was mad at you because you left. And I was mad at you both because you kept saying it wasn't me but you didn't say what it was. Just that it was adult things like those adult things didn't affect me. Dad never asked me how I felt, it was almost like he told me. 'Carl, I know you're angry. I know you're sad. I know you're feeling a lot. I don't want you to think this is about you.' But he never asked what I was feeling."

"Sometimes when adults are hurting they don't know how to deal with it so they focus on other things, other people."

"And I was mad at you for that — for hurting him."

The vision of the landscape became blurred again as tears pooled in her eyes and this time she couldn't hold them back as they ran down her cheeks. If he noticed her show of emotions, he didn't acknowledge it. She was thankful for that. She was sad because she hurt Rick and she was sad because Carl had to deal with the fallout.

"Sometimes he'd catch himself setting three place settings instead of two. When you joined the family it helped him. He smiled more… about something other than me. Then you left, and he stopped smiling and he was back to struggling to be everywhere at the same time. Make sure he found someone to pick me up or drop me off or stay with me when he had to work long shifts. For a while, he would sleep on the couch instead of in the bed. He thought I didn't know but one night I got up to get something to drink and saw him."

She and Rick chose that bed together after they married. It was one of the few things she had a hand in. The home, mostly, was still the one Rick's first wife created for him. They were things; she didn't much care. She had her books and her cappuccino maker and her bajot stool with pouf and the other things that mattered. She wasn't interested in disrupting their lives or erasing Lori. Maybe she aided in making herself feel like she was living on the periphery of Rick's life.

She was proud of the young man Carl grew up to be. This was the conversation she'd been waiting to have, but she wanted to have with Rick. She didn't think a conversation with Rick was possible. At least not right now. Rick was dealing with a perfect storm of shit. Based on the little Carl just told her, this world had put Rick through the ringer full of danger, false allies, death and near death. Rick took things on his shoulders alone to protect others. There was no doubt he did that now. She had a feeling he would struggle with Alexandria without her presence, but here she was, the ex, making it that much worse.

* * *

Rick squatted on the porch listening as Glenn told the story of what happened during their run. It was a matter of time. Aiden was an idiot whose luck finally ran out, and he got himself killed. That didn't bother Rick. Arrogance without skill was deadly. That was supposed to happen. What pained him, what pissed Rick off was Aiden's actions endangered Tara's life and now she was in a coma. She was fighting for her life because she went out to help people who had no appreciation for the danger she undertook to do it.

Then Nicholas got Noah killed. Glenn was a wreck; it was the next day but his eyes were red and puffy and the only reason he wasn't crying now was that he was all cried out. Rick often felt that way — like he had nothing good left to give. Just tired. Tired of coming up just short. Tired of doing just enough. Tired of doubting everything and everyone, including himself. Tired of being right about how horrible people were in some form or fashion.

"I almost left him out there. Just told a story of how he was killed by walkers."

Rick looked up at Glenn. Wide-eyed and wondering why the fuck he didn't. It would be no loss to anyone. In fact, letting the scared ones die would probably spare lives.

"What? You think I should have left him?"

"No, I think you should have killed him. He got Noah killed, he almost got you killed, and eventually, he _will_ get someone killed. At his core, Nicholas is a coward and those are the most dangerous."

"You make him sound like he's some calculated monster," Glenn said. "He's scared. Like we all are."

"No, he's not calculated. People like Nicholas are even more dangerous because you can't plan for what they may do. Those kinds of people, even they don't know what they're capable of. These people don't know what they're doing."

"We can show them."

Rick sighed out of frustration. "They don't even see themselves as the problem with what's wrong with this community."

"Rick, we need to be here. Not just for them but for us."

"Yeah, we do." Not for them, Rick mused, but for his people. His son. "We don't follow their rules. Not anymore. We tried it even though we knew it was stupid."

"We are them."

And this is why he was angry with Glenn. So tired of explaining to people who should know better. "We are not them. We don't let our fear get people killed. That's not who we are and I will not pretend otherwise because you don't want to tell people the hard truth."

"Rick."

"No, you'd rather go along to get along even though you know more than anyone it's wrong. Why didn't you tell Deanna what Nicholas and Aiden did out there, hanging that walker like a pinata endangering the community?"

Glenn hung his head. "Because I thought I could help them. Show them the way. It's too late for Aiden but not for Nicholas. We've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. No one made me and I guess it's what I had to do, at least that's what I tell myself, but there have to be lines we won't cross. I can't forget who I was before this all started. I want more."

In theory, what Glenn said made sense, but it was a death sentence. They weren't operating in before. Now was different. And all you could do was have a code, and that code didn't include being stupid or not killing.

"What? A noble death? You ready for that humanity to get you killed?" He bit his lip and looked away.

"What is it you really want to say, Rick?"

"I expected more of you."

"And I expect more of you. You've changed."

"It was necessary."

"No, not who you are now. Who you are now isn't necessary. It's not just the things you do, Rick. What you believe in has changed. There are ways to handle things and you seem to take the quick route, which usually means the most destructive and deadly. What gets me the most is that you don't care."

Glenn was the one who didn't know. Didn't know each life Rick took stayed with him, weighed on him, but he didn't have the luxury of wallowing in what it meant beyond knowing it kept them alive. He left the philosophizing to Glenn. Glenn saw morally fraught situations, Rick saw responsibilities and lives to protect.

"Maggie," Glenn said.

"What about her?"

"I don't want her to wake up one day and think she doesn't know the man she married."

"I think Maggie wants you alive by any means necessary."

"No. Maggie is her father's daughter. She expects me to be that kind of man, or at least try."

"You'd be surprised what people will do and accept out of love." He stood. "Don't underestimate Maggie's ability to pull the trigger."

"She's my wife. You don't know her. Not like I do, Rick. Don't tell me the person she is."

Rick held up his hands. "You're right." He walked off without another word, leaving Glenn on that porch to figure out how he would rehabilitate a coward and a liar. Part of him wanted to admit after two marriages, he didn't know much about wives, but he knew better. He knew they surprised you. They changed you and then they changed. Made you do things you never would have done, all for them, and then they judge you for it. He knew all about wives.

As Rick walked down the street, taking in the cool air to cool off he heard footsteps behind him and thought maybe it was Glenn coming to tell him he was right.

"Hey," Daryl said. "What's going on" Saw you and Glenn. Looked tense."

He stopped at the sound of his voice and turned around.

"After everything that happened out there, with Noah and Tara and Nicholas trying to leave him out there, Glenn wants to show these people the way. Can you believe him?"

"Yeah, I can. That's who he's always been. I can't believe you though."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not perfect," he said with a nod of his head. "I might have put an arrow in that prick's head for what he did, but that because I ain't Glenn or who you used to be. The Rick I met said we don't kill the living. Man, it's getting harder and harder to know who you are anymore. The Rick I'm looking at now would have killed me ten times over before we made it to that prison."

Daryl was a hothead, but he always saw something in him. He was one of the rare people who had the ability to change, Rick's trust in him was the incentive he needed to do so. "No, I wouldn't." He shook his head. "You learned."

"I only cared about myself and my brother. You went back to save him even if maybe he ain't deserve it."

"What are you saying? You believe we should just fall in line?"

"Hell no. These people ain't got a clue. We know what works and what don't."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I know your heart is in the right place. You only want this place to be safe, for everyone. These people included even if they don't see it. I just think there's gotta be a better way to do this. You can't just bum rush into someone's house and rearrange the furniture, man. They let us in."

"Because they needed us."

He nodded. "And we needed them too."

"So what exactly are you saying?"

"Maybe ease up a little so they want to follow your lead." He looked down and then away. "The harder you push these people the more they gonna resist. I mean, all they've ever known is this," he said as he waved his arm around acknowledging the community.

"But Aaron does and they know him and he's tried to tell them how shit is out there and they act like he's telling them a scary Halloween story they can ignore."

"You think they're gonna listen to you stomping around here?"

"Maybe you're right but we might not have time for them to come around. I hate to say it, they need something bad to get them to see."

"You plan on making that bad thing happen?"

He was tempted. It's what they needed. Better to have a dress rehearsal than be unprepared for the real thing.

"Something will happen because that's the way it goes; we ain't gotta do anything right now to make something happen. Hard to believe I'm the voice of reason around here. Damn," Daryl grunted. "Y'all need to get it together."

* * *

Michonne watched as Deanna walked in the direction of the cemetery on her way to visit her son's freshly placed headstone. She couldn't imagine the pain Deanna was going through. Yesterday started as it always did — Deanna smiling and dreaming of the future. It ended with her life destroyed and she was probably questioning why she sent her son outside those walls. Really, she was probably questioning everything she believed in. It's what Michonne did when some guy murdered her grandfather even after he handed over his wallet and watch. She was just getting over the phase that found her barely able to get out of bed when she met Rick. On their first date, she cried over her grandfather and Rick didn't run for the hills from the emotional woman. Instead, they talked about how loss affected them and motivated them to live their lives. After years of settling, they both sought happiness instead of waiting for it to happen to them. It was why they gravitated toward each other, each moment of shared laughter and pleasure drew them closer to each other. Both decided they deserved joy.

The sympathy for Deanna dissipated as did her momentary walk down memory lane when she saw Gabriel walking toward her. He walked with his hands locked behind his back and he smiled at his surroundings like he was on a leisurely stroll in an art museum. He even took the time to pick up one of the amber leaves blowing down the street. The sight of him upset her for various reasons. Michonne wasn't a religious person. Her mother was a loyal member of Bedside Baptist. Rick was like her father — he believed but not in organized religion. He and Carl attended Easter and Christmas services as guests of his parents at their church to make his mother happy. Michonne didn't believe in any of it at all. She considered the man in the sky Santa Claus for adults. If you have beliefs and a set of morals cool. She wanted to be good and do good for herself not out of the motivation of salvation or the fear of eternal damnation.

She was determined to not say anything, but he was a few meager feet away and she couldn't help herself. She was never good at keeping her mouth shut when there was something on her mind. "Gabriel," she said.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met."

He was small in stature for a man; they were about the same height. She preferred men she had to look up to literally and figuratively. He wanted her name, but she wanted answers. "Deanna told me what you said about your group."

His face fell upon realizing this would not be some pleasant introduction or existential question about God's will. "I'm only sorry I didn't tell her sooner."

"Why did you tell her at all?"

"I prefer to leave that between Deanna and myself."

"But she doesn't. She told me what you said. If these people are dangerous and can't be trusted why are you with them?"

He held his head down. She looked him up and down, disgusted by the lack of loyalty for people that kept him alive. "How many times did they save your life?"

"I'm grateful."

"But not loyal." She tilted her head back and to the side, taking to not just a coward but a backstabbing one at that.

"I've seen with my own eyes who they turn into. They start out one way but whenever they need to they change."

"That's not particularly a bad thing," she said. "Life now requires having to do things to survive. Or do you think," she said as she pointed up to the sky, "he will save you? Because last I checked, he started this mess."

"You don't believe because bad things happen that means God isn't real?"

"I don't believe, period."

"I watched a man die a painful death at the hands of people Rick and the others hurt. Revenge came back and a good man paid the price. Rick and his people don't die just the people around them."

"You're still alive."

"It's not that simple. Eventually, your group will suffer because of it." He held out his arm. "It's already happened. How many times had Aiden been outside those walls and always came back?"

He already proved his disloyalty, now he dared to speak on things he knew nothing about. Aiden getting killed wasn't some shocking event. In Deanna's heart, broken as it may be, she knew too. It's why she wanted Glenn out there with him and why she thanked him for knocking Aiden on his ass in hopes of knocking some sense into him. Aiden was an overconfident and under-skilled cowboy. Life was like some single-shooter video game to him. He finally ran out of chances.

"Rick may be a strong man. That doesn't make him a good man."

Something about hearing this man, this coward, criticize Rick made her ashamed of the thoughts that went through her head about him. It's not like Rick was above criticism and he was definitely making bad choices but Gabriel wasn't man enough to judge him; not in this world. She didn't care what it said in that bible he carried around. Gabriel didn't know Rick, but she did. She knew the father, the deputy, the man who made her feel alive, and she doubted him same as this spineless charlatan.

"When you told Deanna about Rick, what was your goal?"

"I just wanted her to know," he said with that weird smile. "It was the right thing. I didn't want her, you, anyone here in this wonderful place to be blindsided."

"What do you expect Deanna to do? Kick them out?" He didn't answer. "And if she does, you'll stay here, right?" His silence was her answer. "Let me make this clear. If Rick leaves, you leave." She turned and walked away. She blamed no one for being afraid, maybe not even for being a coward, but a self-serving parasite… this world gave no one a pass for that.

Rick was dealing with betrayal within his ranks and doubt in his head. She wished they could be on the same side so she could help him.

"Hello," a voice called out to her.

She turned to see Carol coming her way. "Great," she muttered. "From one fraud to another." She stood squarely as she waited for Carol to approach. Carol had that smile on her face and for the first time, Michonne realized it was the same as the one Gabriel kept on his face.

"Hi," she said as she extended her hand. "We haven't met. I'm Carol."

"Michonne." She barely shook her hand. It wasn't the strong shake her father taught her she would need while swimming in a pool full of corporate sharks.

"Beautiful name. Does it mean anything?"

"No." She knew Carol was expecting her to say more, that's what weaker people did, but she loved answering no. The complete sentence. With the way she felt about Carol, she wasn't willing to give her much of anything about herself.

"I really love this," she said as she looked around the community. "I like it here. I get to be like a housewife again," Carol said.

"As opposed to what?"

"Excuse me?"

"What were you out there?" She nodded toward the gate. "Out there I thought you were the den mother."

"Well, I mean the appliances, clean clothes, ice."

"Housewife. Den mother. You seem like more."

"How so?" She smiled with a cock of her head.

"You're always watching, always ready for something to go down, ready to handle things and I don't mean running out of milk and toilet paper."

"Well, Rick and the others, they taught me. I'm still not as good as they are."

"Oh, I have a feeling you're selling yourself short, Carol." Michonne gave a smile, but it wasn't a warm one.

There it was — a small crack in the carapace. Carol's face fell just a little and the way she broke eye contact — just for a second — showed more than she realized. Michonne didn't care if Carol knew she was on to her. Michonne preferred people to know she wasn't a fool. It cut down on the bullshit they threw her way. When you played games, you signed up for the bullshit — people playing you for a fool, thinking you're an idiot to fall for their lies.

"What do you have there?" Michonne pointed to the dish in Carol's hands.

"A casserole for Deanna and her family. It hardly seems like enough but I couldn't just sit around." She lifted the dish. "Well, I want to get this to the family while it's still warm."

Michonne nodded but remained silent and she kept eye contact with Carol. That casserole was probably a cheap attempt at getting on Deanna's good side especially since her son died while out on his first run with their people. She watched as Carol walked away. No one is that cloying. Not now. Now, only the strong survive. The strong or manipulative. You can be humane in this new world. Moral even. But not Mary Poppins. She thought back to Carol's interview with Deanna. Junior League? Bullshit. Michonne's job was to help keep this community safe, and that's what she'd do. That's why she would keep her eyes on Carol, Little Miss People Person. In this world, she trusted assholes, PTSD, and the savage more than normal. Normal was scary as fuck.

* * *

Rick stood behind one of the vacant houses that gave the most privacy inside the gates. Glenn and Daryl thought he changed. Yeah, he knew that change didn't make him an angel, but it kept them alive. He'd take that breathing over being liked any day. If he stayed the same — the guy who went back for Meryl, the guy who couldn't pull the trigger on Randall, who gave chance after chance — they'd all be dead. Why couldn't they see that? He wasn't out of control. He was clear that Alexandria was dangerous and if they allowed themselves to be lulled into the same false sense of security they wouldn't survive long.

They sat around in this place playing pretend. Pretending death wasn't near. Pretending the world was okay. Pretending the vices that destroyed lives disappeared with civilization. People were still weak. People were still evil.

"Hey, Rick."

His eyes narrowed. People were still drunks and wife beaters. He turned to see Pete standing there with a bottle in his hand in the middle of the day. Unabashed. Walking around in the middle of the day like some sloppy drunk.

"What are you doing back here? I thought this was my little spot to get away."

"Don't you have a big house to do that?" Rick asked.

"Nah, wife and kids." He laughed and it threw off his balance and he stumbled. "World ended and they still manage to nag you. Unbelievable, right?"

"You have a patient, don't you?" The frown of doubt on Pete's face was enough to send Rick into a rage. "Tara? The person in the coma? Remember her?" His voice grew a little louder.

"Oh, she's fine."

Rick frowned.

"Well, not fine. She's in a coma. I checked on her earlier."

"You think you should be drinking while she's still in a coma?"

"Gotta have a little downtime some time."

This is the shit he saw when he took this place in. He saw irresponsibility, ignorance, and weakness while the others saw walls, clean clothes, and food. It wasn't that his group suddenly became clueless. They just wanted to believe they suffered enough and that this was their reward for all the shit they endured. This was no paradise.

"I think you should go drink some coffee then check on Tara." When Pete didn't move Rick felt himself moments from doing something he wouldn't regret. "Get going. Now."

Rick had a way of making drunk dipshits realize he wasn't kidding around when he gave an order. The look on Pete's face made it clear he understood he wouldn't get a second chance to stand there looking confused. He walked away without bothering to look back.

Rick closed his eyes and slowly breathed in and out, an attempt to calm himself. This place was one disaster after another waiting to destroy itself.

* * *

Usually, Michonne didn't leave the safety of the walls unless it was to go out on a mission. Now she was going out to check on a broken survivor and to have a secret meeting with Rick and Deanna to discuss other community members. Deanna wasn't used to being outside the walls for any reason. She could barely focus on anyone, too busy looking around.

"We got a problem with Pete." Rick leaned against the wall.

Deanna didn't respond. Rick looked at Michonne then stepped in Deanna's line of sight. "Deanna, we've got a problem with Pete."

She blinked a few times and looked up at him before looking away. Her voice was small. Life had always been stable in Alexandria, more stable than Michonne saw anywhere. Even the militarized zones after the fall of society were nothing more than violent prisons. So the few bumps Alexandria had always seemed scarier than they were to the community members. Losing her son was catastrophic in Deanna's eyes and she probably thought it couldn't get worse — but, sadly, that wasn't true.

"I'd hope it would get better," Deanna said as she hugged herself and walked to no place in particular. Ambling around like she had been since the group returned without her son, without a body to bury.

Michonne never got sick, so had no reason to deal with Pete but from a distance, she detected the strong hint of an asshole.

"You knew?" Rick asked, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward Deanna with a purpose. Michonne took a step forward. "It hasn't gotten better and it never will."

"Pete's a surgeon. He saves lives. He will probably save Tara's life." Deanna looked at him for the first time since they walked outside the walls.

"He's beating his wife and we have to stop it."

Michonne didn't know for sure as Deanna seemed to, but it didn't surprise her. She definitely detected the Andersons didn't have a good marriage. He was too smug, and she too skittish around him.

"How?" Deanna asked. "How do we stop it?"

"We separate them."

"And what happens when he doesn't accept that?" Deanna asked.

"It's not his choice."

Deanna stepped to Rick. "And what happens when he doesn't accept that?" She asked again, this time slower, annunciating her words. The fire the petite woman was known for suddenly reappearing.

"I kill him."

"What?" Michonne asked. Rick snapped her out of the trance she was in as she watched them go back and forth.

"We don't kill the living," Deanna said. "This is civilization."

"These days, a warning is being civilized. If he doesn't take the warning…" He trailed off and shrugged.

He was so nonchalant with his talk of murder. This was a deputy who followed the rules, who always remained calm, and taught the department course on de-escalation. She wouldn't call him perfect — he still stood strongly behind that blue line — but this was talk she never heard from him before. Times have changed, sure, but he seemed to have become a man who didn't respect life unless it was one of his people.

"We exile."

Rick let out a long groan. "What are you going to do? Give him an eviction notice? Letting people just leave, out of some misplaced idea of decency and mercy makes this place vulnerable. They come back. They always come back and someone dies because of it. How much more blood are you willing to have on your hands because you won't listen?"

Michonne found that to be cruel considering one of the dead was Deanna's son.

"We'll put him in another house. We don't execute people."

"People die. You can't escape that. You can't stop it. You need to decide who and when and how or it'll be decided for you. And when that happens you hate the people who die because you weren't strong enough to make the choices that needed to be made."

It no longer felt like he was talking about Pete. Michonne knew the feeling of regret in this new life and it was soul-crushing and almost always life-ending. She was with a small group that came across some bad guys who tried to steal their possessions. She had the opportunity to kill them but thought more about the little-remaining innocence of the small children with them. They'd seen enough, they didn't need to see what she felt the urge to do in her gut — kill. She let them go and they came back to kill the father and children before she could kill them. The mother took her life soon after. An entire family wiped out because Michonne thought decency was more important than safety. But she wasn't sure they were dealing with the same situation here. She wasn't ready to kill Pete. Was spousal abuse a death sentence?

Michonne knew Deanna would ask her what to do about Rick and already her past was clouding her judgment. She didn't want Rick exiled. Rick scared Deanna, and it was understandable. She made him the constable. She thought he would be a voice of reason and help make the community stronger. Now she stood there, and it pained Michonne to see that look on Deanna's face. Without another word, Deanna walked off.

They stood there alone, Rick defiant, daring her to disagree.

"Rick," she said calmly. "You need to get it together."

"Did you know about Pete?"

She frowned. "Have you talked to Sasha?"

He grimaced. "Sasha's fine."

Michonne shook her head and closed her eyes because she couldn't stand to look at him at that moment.

"Did you know about Pete?"

"So no concern about Sasha?"

He sighed.

"No, I didn't know but what goes on in their household is none of my business."

"Who are you? I knew you could be a bit unforgiving of a woman's weakness."

"What?" She opened her eyes and glared at him.

"I don't know what that says about who you've become, but you're this cold?"

She was shocked. "What _I've_ become? This judgment coming from the man who speaks so freely of all the people he's killed and wouldn't hesitate to kill."

"I did what I had to do."

"And you'd do it again," she said.

"Without hesitation," he yelled.

She couldn't believe less than an hour ago she felt guilty for doubting him. "You said that's the world we live in now. Is everything punishable by death? What happens when someone doesn't want to get up and do their job one day? You gonna kill them too?"

"You people are weak. You're afraid. You leave people behind. It's what Tobin did. It's what Aiden and Nicholas did. If they'll do it to their own why should I trust they'll give a damn about my people?" He was practically growling at her in that hushed tone.

"Deanna was warned that you and your group are dangerous. That you'd destroy this place and put your needs before this community. Looks like that was right."

He grunted.

"That doesn't bother you?"

He looked around, eyes stretched, the slightest smirk on his face. He stood there with his hands on his hips and his chest puffed out wearing that warning like a badge of honor.

"What? So it's true?"

"We survive. I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure that happens." He walked off but called out to her. "Don't worry. We'll do what you people are incapable of. I'm done talking about this. Don't you people get tired to just talking?"

She called after him. "What does that mean? What are you willing to do?"

"Jesus, cut the interrogation, will you? I just need a break."

"Just like old times," she called out. "Rick's done talking, so the conversation is over."

She thought back to his comments. She wasn't hard on women. She didn't see them solely as helpless or sweet beings to be saved as Rick did. He thought most women were forced to do bad things. She knew women could be just as savage as men; that the fairer sex could be violent and evil; and conniving beyond trapping a man and aggressive beyond being a mean girl.

She heard the crunch of leaves and pulled out her sword waiting for someone or something to appear. She dropped it down to her side and breathed a sigh of relief when Sasha appeared with her rifle on her shoulder and a bag in her hand. She hadn't missed a day outside the walls with her rifle since they arrived.

"You always sneak up on people?" Michonne was upset not because Sasha was stealth but because she may have overheard her conversation with Rick.

"Just returning the favor." She stepped closer. "He can be an ass but it usually takes a little time for him to get under someone's skin the way he has yours." She nodded her head toward the direction in which Rick disappeared. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." She said too quick, keenly aware it made her sound guilty of something. And if Sasha wasn't curious, she was now with that rapid response.

Sasha's lips pursed, and an eyebrow cocked as she stared at Michonne. "This is one of those times I wanted to talk." She turned and walked off.

This group had manipulation down to a science, but there was validity to what Sasha said. If she expected Sasha to open up she needed to do the same with an act of good faith. Even if, at this moment, it was just a game for Sasha. She didn't care about talking to Michonne she wanted to be a smart ass.

"We have a difference of opinion."

Sasha stopped and turned around. "About?"

"How to handle a domestic disturbance."

"Officer do good. Makes sense." Sasha nodded. "Still, pretty intense." She walked back to Michonne. "Sounds like you guys are pros at arguing with each other. Like it's the final round of a boxing match."

She took a deep breath. Really, how long could they go on pretending they didn't know each other? It was bound to come out. She felt bad that during all her conversations with Deanna, as the woman confided in her and asked her counsel, that she wasn't truthful with her.

"We knew each other before."

Sasha stared at her with a blank expression. "Before?"

"Before the world changed. He was... he's my ex-husband."

"Wait, did you send Aaron to bring Rick back to Alexandria?"

"No. I didn't know he and Carl were in Virginia."

"Damn. You can't make this up. It really is a small world after all," Sasha said with a small laugh.

It was the first time Michonne saw any emotion on her face beyond anguish and anger.

"If you could please not mention it to anyone." Michonne wanted to be the one to tell Deanna.

She shrugged. "We've all got our secrets." She tossed a peace sign and headed for the gates.

Michonne noticed Sasha didn't exactly agree to keep her secret. Walking back into the community, after what Gabriel said, after Rick's comments about killing, it pissed her off to see Rick and Carol once again huddled together. When Carol locked eyes with her, Carol kept the smile on her face. She was determined to keep up the lie. Michonne watched as Carol said a few things to Rick who turned and looked at her.

When Carol walked off and joined two Alexandria women Michonne walked over to Rick. "Whatever you're planning. Stop."

"What are you talking about?"

"I may not know who you are now -"

"Oh, give it a rest," he groaned.

"But there is something I know in this new world."

He grunted. "And what's that?"

"The enemy." She glanced over at Carol, looked at him once more, and left him standing there.

* * *

The day had been long but there were still a few more hours of daylight. It felt like one of those days when they were outside the walls when it seemed the sun would never go down; that the day would never end and allow him to take a breath. Death always took a toll on him. Either it devastated him, he felt guilty for not preventing it, or he did the actual killing. Noah was dead. And despite not giving a shit about someone who deserved to die, he had to deal with the fallout of losing Aiden. With Nicholas sure to lie about what happened out there, he had to anticipate what Deanna would do?

As if that wasn't enough, he had to deal with Michonne inserting herself in everything. She was everywhere. Worried about what he was doing and thinking. Wanting to rekindle a relationship with Carl, pretending to care about Sasha, and now not trusting Carol. She always felt it was her right to know whatever she wanted to know whether or not it had anything to do with her. Maybe that's why she was great at her job, she was always digging when others were satisfied with just enough.

He leaned over the rail of the wooden walking bridge over the small stream that fed into the man-made lake at the center of the community. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to rest his body. For years he tried his best to keep them all together and alive. He was tired.

He heard footsteps and looked to his right to see Carol coming his way. He turned his gaze back toward the lake and closed his eyes, trying to disguise the frustration he felt by her presence in a moment of solitude he sought. From one woman stressing him out to another.

"What do you think of Michonne?" She asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. She seems suspicious of me," she muttered.

"Maybe you're suspicious," he said, making sure to sarcasm was minimal. After all, they stole guns and had a contingency plan to stage a coup. He thought these people were idiots, but he knew Michonne wasn't.

"Maybe, we shouldn't be seen together too much."

"I think that's a good idea." This place was making him feel claustrophobic. Everywhere he turned there was a problem to solve.

"So, Pete?"

He ran his hands over his face. The frustration like little bugs under his skin making him itch. "Deanna isn't going to do anything about it."

"I figured as much."

He stood up straight. "Why do you care what happens to Jessie?"

"You know why. And I know why you care."

He looked over at her. The woman she was when he met her had long ago disappeared. It was hard to believe she once flinched with each move her husband made. "Why do you think I care?"

Her voice softened. "I've seen you talk to her, how you look at her. That's a good thing. Wish I had that; someone who cared. Maybe I wouldn't have been stuck with Ed for so long. If the world hadn't changed I'd be dead instead of him."

"Who you are now is who you always were. It was always inside. You wouldn't have let him kill you." He said it not because he believed it, though it was possible she could have escaped, but to comfort her in case she still carried guilt for not handling it herself.

"You thought about what I said? About killing Pete?"

"No, I haven't." He gripped the rail so hard his veins bulged from underneath his skin. She'd done this before — the manipulative shit, but it hadn't bothered him because she did it to others and the plan usually made sense. He didn't understand it this time. Now she was in his head about who he was and what he needed to do.

"What other option is there?"

Hell, he talked about killing Pete with Deanna but Carol in his ear telling him he needed to be the one to do it didn't sit well with him. Why him? Why not her? If anyone knew how to kill a man, it was Carol. She killed David and Karen while they were weak and unable to defend themselves. What was to be gained from him doing it? Maybe she should do it — pretend it's Ed and live vicariously, maybe get closure.

"I don't know," he said then walked away. If he didn't walk off she would badger him, try to wear him down. Try to manipulate him into her way of doing things. He just wanted to clear his head.

He walked around the community a few times searching for peace but the frustrations seemed to intensify. Deanna could hope and wish all she wanted, but that wasn't realistic. It never was. That was always a stupid plan — to sit and wait, pray. All you were really doing was hesitating, and that was deadly. When he looked up, he found himself on the side of the Andersons' home. Jessie was in the garage putting away some tools. He stood back and watched her. From time to time, she wiped away tears. She struggled to keep it together, biting her lower lip and willing herself to cut off the emotions. This wouldn't go away. He needed to put a stop to it.

He walked up and stopped just before entering the garage. "Jessie."

She turned with a slight jump. "Rick." Her shoulders fell when she saw him. "I'm sorry about Noah. He was a good kid."

"He's hurting you and it has to stop."

"What?" She tried to laugh it off, probably something she did in the past, but it was a pathetic attempt. She looked down at a blue and white bandanna in her hand before looking up at him. When he didn't speak or buy into her obtuse act, she gave in. "There are things in his life that-"

He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't care."

"What are you going to do?" She looked him up and down and pointed to his uniform. "Are you going to put him in jail?"

"I can help you."

"Stay out of this Rick. It's none of your business. You'll only make things worse."

"No. Pete will make things worse and if they're worse that means you're dead. That he killed you."

She shook her head back and forth as if she was in some trance."He would never. No. No. He would never."

"Who are you trying to convince, Jessie? Me or you?"

She hit the garage remote and went inside. He ran under the garage as it was closing and barged in the house.

"Rick, please," she cried as she looked up toward the ceiling. She turned her back to him and place her hands on the fireplace mantle.

"I arrested this punk kid for abusing his girlfriend. People heard him threaten her. He didn't care who heard him. He would hit her and she always defended him. I don't know. I guess he had things that happened in his life too." He didn't care about the low blow. It was better than the actual blows Pete dished out. "She always went back." He shook his head in disbelief. "She even bailed him out of jail each time he was arrested for beating on her. We told her one day it would be homicide working her case. She laughed it off. Said he'd never. And then he did."

She turned to look at him and shook her head. "And what? Pete is a surgeon, Rick. He saves people. He'll save Tara. He's not like some guy you arrested. He's not some punk kid."

"Don't you see," he said as he walked to her. "A guy who beats his wife the way he's constantly beat on you can't change. He's no better than some punk kid. It doesn't matter that he's a surgeon. Does Pete being a surgeon make the hits less painful?"

"It's not constant," she muttered.

"Now you're worried about the right word? Once is one time too many and we both know it's happened more than once. I know people like to pretend that everyone has a redemption story but most people don't. Most people are who they are."

"He'll get better. I can help him like I did before."

"How much better does he need for things to be Jessie?" He stretched out his arms. "Look around. No stress. No bills. No taxes. Not even traffic. He never steps outside these walls. The signs are there Jessie. He's an alcoholic who probably drinks even more than he did before, you're nervous around him and always rushing to please him, he's probably threatened to kill you — those all lead to one thing, your casket because they never just stop." He shook his head. "It keeps happening and happening."

She kept staring off into space shaking her head.

"I understand what you're thinking. You're thinking in the grand scheme of things, compared to all the other stuff going on, that it's not so bad. Your husband hitting you is better than being hungry out there, your kids being out there instead of a safe place. You'd take a slap or a punch for your kids, over them dying out there. But now is no different than before. It didn't have to be that way then, and it doesn't have to be that way now."

"Why are you doing this?" She moved her head slightly, and it jarred the tears from her eyes. "Are you doing this because you're the constable?"

He gripped her shoulders and held on tight. "No. Because you need me."

She frowned and stared at him, almost as if studying him. "I'm married, Rick. Do you get that? I'm married."

Her words. He wasn't prepared for that. Did she think he wanted her for himself? Is that what she saw? He couldn't save Noah because he wasn't there. But he was here now, he had the chance. And no one else would die because this was no longer Deanna's watch. This was his and he could do something about this before it was too late.

"I'm doing this because it always ends the same after always starting the same. Do you want to be a cliche? A dead cliche that your kids struggle with? Do you know the damage it does to kids? Sam is already afraid of his own shadow. The kid is a walking mess. In the best conditions, he'd probably be screwed up for years. Now," he said with a shrug. "With death as reliable as the setting sun, who knows what'll happen to him."

He hated to use her kids, but it seemed to do the trick. "Okay," she cried and nodded. "Okay."

Suddenly there were loud footsteps coming down the stairs, and she stared up at him, eyes wide and wild. Pete came around the corner, beer bottle in hand, the wall helping to keep him up as he stumbled and fell against it.

"Rick? What are you doing here?" The fake smile plastered on his face fell as he looked at his wife's expression then looked back at Rick. "What's going on?"

"Pete, calm down." Jessie moved toward him.

He shoved her to the side and took a few steps toward Rick. "What's going on?"

Rick put his hand as a warning, trying to calm the man down. "Pete, you need to leave. Jessie doesn't want you here anymore."

He looked at Jessie. "That's what you said?" He looked to Rick. "You think you're going to do this?" He sneered. "Because you have a windbreaker and a stupid uniform? You think that means something? That you get to come into my house and tell me what to do?" All the time he spoke he walked towards Rick. "Get out of my house," he screamed as he took a swing.

Rick ducked and landed a punch square on Pete's jaw. He thought maybe that would be enough and wasn't prepared for the return punch; it stunned him long enough for Pete to shove him up against the wall and pin him there.

"You think you can come into my house and get inside my wife's head causing problems where there were none?"

They traded punches, knocked over furniture, and became locked with neither able to gain the upper hand. Pete pushed him back and kept pushing him until he could feel himself fall through the window taking Pete with him. Pete was bloodied with cuts all over his face. He probably looked the same, but he felt nothing but adrenaline.

He was barely aware there were others watching as they continued in the middle of the street. Jessie tried to pull Pete off him and he could hear Pete's hand connect with Jessie's face and her resulting scream. He maneuvered so he was on top. He punched Pete and then he punched him again, not even bothering to see the effect his assault had on him, whether the punches had brought on Pete's submission. At some point, it stopped being about Jessie. He simply wanted to beat the hell out of Pete because it's what he deserved. Because Deanna wouldn't listen. Because Carol was manipulative. Because Michonne still got to him, made him feel things he hadn't felt in a long time. Then it all went black.


	6. House of Cards

Okay **member000** , I'm gonna need you to record your comments in a podcast. I laughed so hard at the comments from the last chapter. Sorry this took longer than I expected and I hope it doesn't disappoint (too much).

* * *

Michonne watched Rick as he slept on a mattress on the living room floor of one of the vacant homes. He slept through the night and barely moved after Deanna was gracious enough to allow him two pain killers. Part of Michonne wanted him to feel the pain of his stupid but the other part, the part that wanted nothing bad to happen to him, already had Tylenol and a bottle of water waiting for him when he woke up.

The bruises on his face would take a while but they would heal; it would take longer to heal his reputation which was already bad. It felt almost impossible for him to integrate himself into this community. His insolent behavior didn't go over well with the residents accustomed to peace and harmony behind these walls. Peace was the last thing Rick knew. He probably hadn't known peace since the world changed. She thought back to what Carl said — what they went through and how it was Rick leading the way. The toll it must have taken on him. Losing safe spaces, death of loved ones, worrying about food, shelter, and medicine while taking each setback as his own personal failure.

Then she thought about the divorce and what that did to him. She knew it wasn't easy for Rick despite his pretending he didn't give a shit the few times they spoke after the separation. She knew because it wasn't easy for her either. She didn't know how crushing it was until Carl gave her a peek into their lives after she left. Actually, that wasn't true. Even back then, she knew it was difficult for Rick — to imagine anything less would have been lying. But the details — Carl's details — made it more painful. Carrying that pre-world trauma along with the weight of the traumas presented by this new world was a burden that was breaking Rick.

She had her own tales of lonely woe. Of sitting on a couch alone wondering what Rick and Carl were doing even if Rick thought she went off to live a big jet-set life in the big city. Working late or driving around because she didn't want to go to an empty house filled with takeout containers in the garbage. For three months she lived out of boxes because she hadn't accepted that a half empty closet was her life and emptying those boxes, giving her things a permanent place would make it real. She didn't want it to be real because she hoped that maybe, somehow, they would reconnect.

"What are you doing here?"

She looked up to see Rick slowly sit up and lean against the wall. His hand running over his face, squinting from the light streaming through the blinds.

"What?" She asked.

"What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're okay." During the night she stood over him to watch the rise and fall of his chest. "Thinking about Boyd Harlan Hogg."

He grunted and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

With the bandages on his face and the bruises already appearing, it reminded her of the time he was concussed after getting jumped from behind in the middle of the night by Boyd, a lowlife meth dealer. Carl spent the night at a neighbor's house while she stayed with Rick at the hospital. That was her taste of being a cop's wife and it scared the hell out of her. That night she slept next to him and when he slept she cried. She found herself praying to someone or something she never believed in. Praying was worth a try if it meant the man she loved would be okay.

"I hated getting a call from an unknown number while you were on duty." She shook her head. "I held my breath anytime a cop or cop car came toward me, thinking they were coming to give me bad news," she breathed.

When she looked over at him he was staring at her.

"I didn't know," he mumbled.

She held her breath and didn't move for fear it would break the little-known peace between them since they reunited where he didn't yell or look at her like he wanted her to disappear, or worse, die. In that moment they stared at each other she hoped like hell it could be the start of civility between them, and then he looked away.

He cleared his throat. "How long have you been here?" He took stock of his surroundings and himself. He was dressed except for his battered boots she pulled off while he slept.

"All night."

"How did you get that duty?"

"There were a few volunteers, but they wanted to give you a blanket party and Deanna wouldn't allow any of your people."

"What happened?"

"You and Pete acted like animals. We put you here. We put Pete in a separate house from his family to let him cool off."

"Cool off?"

"Yes."

"We need to keep him away from Jessie."

She shook her head and sighed heavily. Clearly she hadn't hit him hard enough to knock any sense into him. "What he and his wife decide is their decision to make."

"It only takes one person to end a marriage."

She wanted to engage, but she knew it would go nowhere productive. Not now. "You need to worry about yourself. Deanna is this close to kicking you out and I can't say I blame her." There was the slightest ray of sunlight between her thumb and forefinger.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"I know I may not fully understand where you're coming from but you need to reign it in, Rick."

"I'm clear about what needs to happen."

"You shoved Carl, Rick. Knocked him down to the ground."

"What?"

"You don't remember? I suppose that makes sense. You were out of your mind yesterday." She frowned, near tears remembering the look of confusion and embarrassment on Carl's face because his father was acting like an ass.

"I don't remember anything. I didn't really take Pete for a guy that could handle someone his own size." He rubbed the back of his head. "I must have hit my head on something."

"No, that was me."

"You hit me?"

"You needed it before you said something you couldn't take back." She stood up and paced around the room. "You must talk to Deanna," she said then mumbled to herself. "Maybe play up your PTSD. You're not the only one with signs. It's hard out there. Aaron can attest to that." She looked over at him. "Have you interacted with anyone else from the community? Besides, Jessie? You'll need character witnesses."

"Stop," he mumbled.

"People who know your skills will benefit the community. I can talk to Scott and Heath. They're my run partners. They know what it's like out there."

"Stop."

"And Waltman definitely knows what life out there can do to you. He knows what you see messes with your mind. People were hesitant about him. Most of them wanted him gone, but he's the reason those walls are even more solid than they were."

"Michonne. Stop!"

She looked over at him and frowned. "What?"

"I don't need any of these people vouching for me. They don't know me. And if these people need to be convinced that me and my people can help them then," he said with a shrug. "They're even crazier than I thought."

She stared at him in total disbelief of how stupid he was being. "No. You're crazier than I thought if you believe that. In a week your group beat up Deanna's son who eventually died while out with them, became constable, took over the construction crew, and made everyone uncomfortable. You can't see how bad this is for your people? Rick, convince people why you're right, you don't beat it into them. That's what you need to do at the meeting Deanna has called for tonight."

"A meeting? You people and your parties and meetings."

"I'm trying to help here. I don't want Carl to leave and I hope you believe me when I say I don't want you to leave either."

He stared at her. "We don't have to be here."

"I forgot about your pride." She sat back in her chair on the other side of the room and ran her hands up and down her thighs.

"What?"

"Stop acting like you have so many options out there. Options better than this." She waved her hand around the room.

He stared at her. "We survive."

"I know how bad you've had it out there. I know that's why you do the things you do, say the things you say. And make no mistake, I'm one of these people because I don't see us versus them, but I haven't been behind these walls the whole time. I've been out there too. I've had other people's blood on my hands — because I did what had to be done… and because a few times I didn't. I know what it's like to never again want to lose because you didn't pull the trigger when you should have. But Rick, you don't have to be this way. You don't have to make enemies of people who aren't a threat. Rick, no matter what happens." She paused and took a deep breath. "Carl needs to stay here."

"What are saying?"

"Carl should stay here if you're forced to leave."

"Over my dead body."

"It may come to that if we followed your belief system."

He closed his eyes. "You're something else. _Now_ you're worried about Carl."

"Want your pound of flesh? Fine, Rick. But this is a place where Carl can be safe. You'd pass that up? You care more about hurting me than keeping him safe?"

He lifted his head from against the wall and laughed. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Me? Hurt you? You got that backwards don't you? I didn't do the hurting."

They both bottled up feelings and now things were about to explode. Once again Carl would get hurt, and this time a lot of other people too — Alexandria could be the victim of Rick's anger and their inability to communicate. She hoped he'd say more. Needed him to say more and not just about Alexandria. This seemed to be the opening she wanted since it all ended for them. She couldn't let them dance around the end of their marriage again.

"You hate me so much—"

"It's not hate," he yelled, anguish apparent. "Hate would be easier to deal with than..."

"Then what?" She stood and walked toward him.

The sounds of voices and boots ended the conversation.

"Rick," a voice called out.

"Back here," he answered.

"Let me help you," she whispered as the harsh sound of boots on the hardwood floor drew nearer. "I don't want you to leave." She wiped away a fallen tear.

"Rick, we need to figure out what these people," Carol stopped when she turned the corner and saw Michonne standing near to Rick. "Oh, I didn't know you were still here," she said with the return of the saccharine voice.

Michonne said nothing, just marveled at the quick change in disposition. Carol committed to her act. This woman disgusted her. Daryl and Glenn were behind her.

"Mind if we speak to Rick alone?" Carol asked her.

"Why?" Michonne asked.

Michonne and Carol looked at Rick waiting to see who he would side with. Michonne expected it to be Carol since she was part of his coterie and because he hated her.

"She's fine," he said with a wave.

Wanting her to leave would have been less hurtful than that dismissive wave off. She watched Carol for some sign of anger but she never broke character simply nodding and smiling.

"Maggie said Deanna will probably let the community have a say on what to do with Rick," Glenn said as he looked around the room then landed on Michonne. "Should we pack our bags now?"

"No, but it won't be easy." Maybe she could talk some sense into the others. Get them to see what Rick refused to see. "I was just telling Rick, his fight with Pete was just the latest issue since you all arrived. I'm sure some people will think you're not worth the hassle that comes with your presence. Father Gabriel saw your abilities for himself, was a beneficiary, and even he doesn't think you're worth it."

"Well, that's crazy," Carol said.

"Not really," Glenn said. "Some of these people haven't seen a walker since they entered these walls. What Michonne says makes sense." He nodded at her.

She gave a slight smile toward Glenn. Appreciative that he confirmed what she was saying wasn't just nonsense.

"Rick," Glenn frowned. "Where did you get the gun?"

"You broke into the armory, right?" Carol said with a shake of her head. "That was stupid."

Michonne thought it was funny how pathetic her act was when you realized just that — that it was an act.

"That gun could be the nail in the coffin. We might have survived everything, even the fight with Pete," Glenn said. He frowned. "What was that all about? He's taking care of Tara."

"He's beating his wife," Rick said. "I gave him a taste of his own medicine."

"You should have killed him," Carol said.

Michonne frowned at Carol. "Can I see you outside?"

When they stepped outside, the door was barely closed when Michonne turned on Carol. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" She hugged herself.

"You're encouraging him to be savage. Murder is not how you handle what's going on with Pete and Jessie."

"People like that, people like Pete, they're worse than before because there's no police or judges. If you don't stop it, they hurt people. Rick can stop it. I've seen him save so many people. He knows what he's doing."

"Rick isn't himself."

"How do you know who Rick is?" She cleared her throat and held her head down momentarily. "He's… he's gone through so much is all. Even I have a hard time remembering the Rick I met."

In that moment she could tell Carol was fighting the urge to show her true colors as if that would make Michonne back down but she opted for her cover though she was blowing it. "I'm a good judge of people. Besides, he's not well. Anyone can see that. I would hope you were more interested in helping him instead of dragging him down further."

"Dragging him down?"

"I'm a reader. I loved Vonnegut. Ever read him?"

Carol shook her head.

Michonne looked up to the sky. "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." She looked over at Carol. "If you guys aren't careful, you're out of here." She wanted to go back inside but what she wanted to say to Rick couldn't be said with his friends around.

* * *

The community was silent. Eerie. He sat on the front porch of the house they put him in. It was still almost like the calm before the storm. Despite no technology and entertainment of the past to distract, this was the first time since back at the farm he took a moment to take in the surrounding beauty. In the past life, had he made different choices, he could have been living somewhere nearby with Michonne and Carl with their own dogwood trees in the front yard. But everyone makes choices, and he made his.

It was early, the dew still in the air, but a few people appeared on the streets. They all avoided eye contact except for a couple of men who probably hated Pete as much as he did and were glad to see him get what he deserved. Probably wish they had done it. He knew men like Pete; they showed their true colors to more than just the people they hurt and the observant ones saw it.

At some point, they stripped him of his constable title — literally. He was no longer wearing his uniform shirt, just the plain white T-shirt underneath. Fired. Never happened to him before. Old Man Grady gave him his first job at the general store stocking and sweeping up at fifteen. He was proud to wear his apron; it was like his own uniform and made sure the shelves were dress right dress and the floors were spotless. When he got his first paycheck he was prouder than a peacock; he never went without one until there were no more jobs to have. At least not ones that earned you a paycheck. Any other time it would feel like a failure but if it woke these people up, then it was necessary. Not to mention it felt good to relieve all the anger and frustration inside. Each blow he gave Pete wasn't because he beat his wife. It was also for Hershel. It was for Beth. It was for the lost prison. It was for the people he couldn't save and the ones he shouldn't have. It was for Alexandrians' incompetence. It was for the leadership role he didn't ask for that slowly ate away at him to where he didn't have much left.

Then he woke up to Michonne. He couldn't get parts of their conversation out of his head and it got to him, got him thinking about their life together. Like her living with the fear that one day he wouldn't come home. He never knew that. He didn't think she was much interested in his career other than complaining about the erratic shifts that made planning difficult. He knew there was more she didn't share. He was the same. They talked a lot; they shared a lot, but there were always things they kept to themselves. Some of those things were okay. Everyone needed something of their own. Besides, his father told him too much truth killed a marriage. But maybe they kept too much to themselves, like the things you should tell the person you love despite them knowing it.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge thoughts of his failed marriage out of his head as he headed back to the house to check on Carl. Since the world changed, he'd been unable to protect his son countless times. Most times he hurt Carl indirectly, like not killing The Governor when he had a chance. This time it was direct. Hitting his son? He'd never put his hands on Carl like that in his life. Every touch had always been a loving one.

The first level was empty. He went upstairs knowing he'd find Carl in his bedroom; he always retreated to his bedroom when he had a problem and this time was probably no different. This time, he was Carl's problem. He heard him, thanks to that cough, before he saw him. Rick knocked on the door and waited until he got the okay before opening the door. "Still got that cough?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come in?"

Carl was lying on his back, arms behind his head looking across the room at some kind of science poster on the wall. He sat up. "Sure." Swinging his legs around, his feet hit the floor, and he stared at his sock-clad feet.

Rick scanned the room. It was spotless. Nothing out of place and the room smelled clean. It had been a long time since their belongings were clean; they got used to the smell of slightly mildewed clothes. There was a palpable sense of unease in the room, something the two of them rarely experienced. Rick held his head down. Embarrassed. "I'm sorry you had to see all that." He could feel Carl staring at him. He was beyond the age and timidity of telling adults it was okay when it wasn't. "And I'm sorry for pushing you. I don't even remember doing that." He looked over at Carl. "That's not an excuse."

Carl remained silent.

"You have nothing to say?"

"What is there to say? It kinda speaks for itself."

Carl said what he felt, and he didn't much care if his old man agreed or not. You want your kids to grow up and speak their mind, you just didn't realize you'd feel some kind of way about them turning that free-thinking mind on you. The sting of disappointing his kid was tough to handle. But Carl was right; his behavior spoke for itself; it said he was trouble. "Deanna called a meeting for tonight."

"Yeah, I heard. I'm not going."

"No?" That surprised him. He usually had to make Carl understand why he couldn't go or do certain things.

Carl walked over the window and looked down. "No. I figure it'll be easier for you to say whatever you need to say if you're not worried about me seeing you." He looked over his shoulder at his father. "Dad, we need to be here. They need us here. It's what everyone needs. Do what you have to do."

"You have any advice?"

"Make them see."

"I've tried—"

"Try harder. If you have to tell them what The Governor did to Hershel, how they killed Beth when we were so close to getting her back. If you have to tell them what they did to Bob, how they ate his leg in front of him, then tell it. Tell it all and don't leave out any of the gory details. Speak the unspeakable so they know that when those bad people come here, we can keep them alive."

He nodded his head. He hadn't been motivated to feel a sense of duty since one of Hershel's speeches. "I can do that."

Carl nodded and sat back on his bed. "I know you can."

"Anything happened I should know about?" Life went either two ways — slow as molasses or faster than the blink of the eye. Both could see a lot of changes.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. What did you do? Who watched you while I was gone?"

He laughed. "Watched me? Like babysat? No one. Everyone was just hanging out. I played cards with Tara for a while and then I came up here and listened to music."

"That all?"

"I visited you." He saw the look of confusion on his father's face. "You were still out. Never woke up while I was there. I stayed for a bit then I left. Dad, I want you to know I won't ignore Michonne. I'm telling you this because I'm not going to hide it, and I'm not going to hide it because it's not bad and I hope you'll do the same."

"Carl." He sighed and shook his head annoyed he was constantly forced to explain this to his son in a way that didn't go beyond what he needed to know. The marriage failed and while he had a right to an opinion about the family, Carl didn't need to know every detail of what went on between a man and a woman in their marriage. Those raw feelings were his and Michonne's.

"You're trying to make decisions for me that aren't yours to make."

"You're my son."

"But I'm not a kid."

Rick sat on the bed next to Carl. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to accept those words. It made sense, and it was true but it felt final and foreboding in this new world. It stunned Rick into silence. It was so damn hard not to think he knew best for Carl, especially now when the world was unforgiving and everyone, even the people you liked, were playing a long con in order to survive.

"Dad, I'll always respect you. I know she hurt you. And I'm not choosing between the two of you, but you want me to turn my back on the person who once saved my life."

He remembered that day they were at the lake. Carl would have drowned if it weren't for Michonne. Rick was off dealing with two drunks harassing a couple of college-age girls because in their Neanderthal minds wearing bikinis meant they wanted to be hit on by two men old enough to be their fathers.

"And in some ways, even if it ended badly, she saved yours too."

After his first wife died, he put all his energy into being the best father he could be for Carl. Into being a great deputy and friend. It left him no time to dwell on his nonexistent love life. There was no joy. No gentle touch of a woman. No one to hold at night. To kiss. To share good news and bad. No one to have inside jokes with. He stopped watching TV because seeing intimate acts — from a peck on the cheek to sex was misery. His universe comprised the sheriff's station, Carl's school, and the grocery store. And he got used to it. Like that was life. Like human contact was optional and not a basic need. He was plodding along in life, a slow trudge. Then he met her and his life changed the moment they exchanged names. He never connected with someone so deep so fast.

"I know she's changed and we've changed, but she's still Michonne and we're still us. Besides, she can help if you let her. Deanna trusts her."

"So be nice to the Alexandrians and play nice with Michonne?"

"Don't play nice, be nice. Why wouldn't you?"

"Fine. Anymore advice or rules you have for me?" Rick smiled as he gripped the back of Carl's neck and pulled him against him for a sideways hug.

"No."

Rick nodded. "I need to do a few things before this meeting. Hopefully, I can make them see. I'll see you later." He headed for the door but before he could leave Carl call out to him.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think you'd be so angry if you didn't care."

It was possible Carl was talking about Alexandria and making sure everyone was safe, but Rick knew he was talking about her.

* * *

They met at the center of the community. The sun was setting and there was a bit of sunlight left but it would be dark soon. There was already a fire in the pit.

Jessie sat in the front row with a bandaged Pete sitting next to her. Though it upset Rick they didn't do enough to protect Jessie, he of all people knew far too many women went back no matter what. In a world with no bills and breadwinners, in a community where almost all your business was everyone's business, Jessie decided for herself. Even if Michonne didn't like it and didn't understand it, she knew they couldn't force Jessie to leave Pete.

Not even a third of the Alexandrians were at the meeting and of them, it was mostly those she figured would want Rick banished. The only thing that would save Rick was that there wouldn't be a vote. This meeting was in the spirit of transparency, like a town commissioners' meeting. People had their say but Deanna was the deciding vote. Michonne was confident she could give a sound argument for why Rick should stay.

Rick's group was there except for most notably Carl, Sasha, and Rick. They sat off to the side keeping to themselves. Only Glenn seemed to look concerned, the others, more or less, seemed annoyed. She figured Rick would be there ready to put on a good face, apologize, and make his case. With the way Rick carried on since he arrived, it shouldn't have surprised her he was a no-show. It pissed her off. All day her mind was consumed with how to make sure he wasn't exiled and he couldn't be bothered to make a case for himself. He couldn't even do it for Carl.

She sat next to Walton. "I didn't know you would be here."

He shrugged. "I kind of have a feeling how this will go."

"And how's that?"

"If nothing else, not boring."

"So you're here for entertainment?"

"Not like there's anything better on TV tonight." He smiled. "I figured it'd be too much to bring a bowl of popcorn. Or no? Because maybe I have time to go pop a bag. I've been saving the Orville Redenbacher's Ultimate Butter."

She stared at him. "Really?" Despite herself, she laughed at his antics. Hell, he probably wasn't the only one here just to see what would go down.

"How do you think this will go?" He asked.

"I'm not sure."

"It'll go the way it's meant to go." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "These folks may be idiots, but Deanna isn't. She knows what's out there. That's why Aaron and Eric are always looking for more people."

Thing was, it had been a while since new people entered the community. That along with the peace in the community, maybe people felt like they were the last ones on Earth. That it all belonged to them and the only reason there were walls was because of the dead. Michonne's group, Waltman, and Aaron — they told Deanna what they saw, what they did, what they escaped, but those videos probably never made their way into the library of interviews available to the community. Deanna hated for anyone to be afraid.

She looked around, there was a buzz because of the constant chatter. She heard snippets of conversations all around her. How Pete was an asshole. Maybe so, but he was their doctor. They'd take a surgeon over a has-been sheriff's deputy. The others seemed nice and they wouldn't be with him if he was a problem.

But he scared some of the women. Some of the men, though he scared the hell out of them too, were in awe of him. It was in their voices, the way they said his name. Like the men who worked boring nine-to-five jobs but secretly wanted to be fighter pilots or a Navy SEAL.

Everyone went silent when Deanna, flanked by Spencer and Reg, arrived and stood before everyone. She surveyed the group.

"As you all know there was an incident yesterday. There are a few issues that need to be resolved, but tonight I want to talk about Rick Grimes. I was hoping he'd be here tonight but we will proceed. He had an unapproved weapon. He attacked a resident and waved a gun around."

"He's dangerous," a woman called out from behind Michonne. "What's there to talk about?"

A chorus of agreement rang through the crowd.

Abraham stepped forward. "Rick knows things and has seen things you people know nothing about. You're lucky he's here."

"The world is dangerous," Carol said. "He's had to do things to protect the people he loves."

Michonne held her head down and shook it slightly. Of course Carol would be present to manipulate the crowd, like an undercover cop pretending to be a protester.

"Yeah, well, we're not the enemy," the same woman behind Michonne said. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like Joan, one of the women who taught the kids.

That seemed to rouse the crowd.

Deanna raised her hands as she called for everyone's attention. "For the sake of transparency, Father Gabriel, who I'd hope would be here, told me Rick and his group were dangerous. And that they'd put themselves before this community. Now, I don't know if Rick's actions were about putting his group before the community, but it doesn't look good."

Suddenly, Michonne wasn't sure what Deanna's plan for Rick was — let him stay or kick him out.

"I'd like to say something," Walton raised his hand.

Deanna nodded at him and he rose and stood before everyone.

"I know these people." He pointed to them. "Abraham, Maggie, and yes, even Rick and Sasha. I say that because once you've been out there you become the same," he said as he shook his head. "It never goes away. You see danger when others don't and even when you don't see it you know it's coming. Maybe I didn't act the way Rick did, but I thought it. I thought how comfortable you all are. How easy this place would be to take over. That maybe I needed to do that in order to save your lives. It made me feel sad for you but it also made me angry."

Michonne looked over at Deanna and the rest of the Alexandrians. She stood next to her friend, who for Rick's sake, said more about his feelings than he ever shared with the community. She's have to thank him. "Like Walt and Rick, it scared me when I first got here. Because that's what it is. It's fear. Fear for his life, his family's life. For your lives. His actions come from a good place. You don't see it. I don't want it to be too late when you do. Neither does he."

"Who's side are you on?" Someone called out.

"The smart and the living." There was grumbling throughout the crowd. No one wanted to believe because believing her, Waltman, and Rick meant accepting there was danger out there, danger they couldn't handle.

There was a piercing scream. Michonne braced herself for whatever came their way. She unsheathed her sword. Even in the walls, darkness was dangerous. She felt more on edge when night fell.

Evelyn, an Alexandrian who kept to herself, ran toward them like she was running for her life. "One of the dead," she barely said while trying to catch her breath. "One of the dead almost killed me."

"How many are there?" Abraham asked.

She had a hard time catching her breath, probably the adrenaline from fear since it didn't take much to outrun the biters, so she held up one finger.

"One?" Glenn asked.

She nodded.

The crowd was on their feet. Michonne looked around and noticed the difference between the Alexandrians and Rick's group. The Alexandrians were afraid, some of them gripping each other, some of the women already crying. Rick's group was relaxed. A couple of them even sat back down. One biter not worth the effort. It wasn't a matter of concern for Waltman either, who seemed to be more amused by the reactions. After all, he once suggested taking people outside the walls to see who could handle themselves like a fire drill.

"What were you doing outside the gates?" Deanna asked.

"It got in. It's in Alexandria."

There were gasps, and she turned in the direction they were pointing to see Rick carrying a biter over his shoulder. His face and shirt were splattered with blood. "I didn't bring it in," Rick said as he unceremoniously dumped the corpse near the fire. "It got in on its own and they'll keep coming in."

Evelyn's sobs took center stage. She was a drama queen over the most mundane things, like not getting meat one week in her rations, but this time it was for real. She was a mess with the other Alexandrians surrounding her trying to comfort her and get more information. "It grabbed me and I couldn't get free."

Rick pointed at Evelyn. "She almost died because she didn't know how to fight and she had nothing to fight with." He looked at Deanna. "If it happened, it would have been on you for not preparing these people, but it doesn't have to be that way."

Reg placed an arm around Deanna. "That's enough, Rick." He was feeling protective of his wife who was getting dressed down in front of the people she led.

Rick was unbothered. "The way you do things ends here and now."

Deanna clutched her shirt as she stared at Evelyn and then the dead lying near her feet then back at Evelyn and once again at the dead. Her hand shook and her lips trembled. "Rick—"

"She almost died. It's not just me. I can show you the way. We can. Glenn, Daryl, Abraham, Maggie. If you people can't take hearing it from me, then…" He shook his head and looked around. "Listen to him," he said as he pointed to Aaron. "And them," he said, pointing to Michonne and Waltman.

"I think it's time we got back to our homes," Deanna said. "It's dark."

The crowd slowly dispersed, unsure how they were to go about their evening after seeing death at their feet. Alexandria was more than shelter from the elements and a safe space. Their home was invaded. Contaminated. Michonne was frozen in place, not from fear, but something feeling she didn't quite know. Rick was a few feet away; they stared at each other. People crossed between them, briefly blocking their view, but not breaking their gaze. Had he heard what she said earlier that day? Took her advice in some small way? Deanna walked over and said something to Rick, their gaze finally broken, and when she and Reg walked off, Rick followed.

* * *

Rick followed Deanna and Reg into their home. He hadn't been there since the first day they arrived.

"There's a bathroom down that hall," she said as she pointed. "Why don't you clean yourself up a little and join us."

Rick walked down the hall and noticed framed pictures on the wall and a small table. None of them were of Deanna, Reg, or their sons. Unlike some other houses, this one looked like a home. It looked lived in, not like a model home. He entered the bathroom and closed the door. He looked like a less dirty version of himself when they were out there on the road. There was blood from the walker on his face, neck, and shirt. In some ways, he felt more comfortable, more confident and grounded in reality when he looked like this. You didn't get to pretend the world was how it once was when you're eating pearl onions from the jar and sleeping in a barn. He wet a hand towel and cleaned himself off.

Was he crazy to feel that way? He worked hard to keep Carl and the others safe but he wasn't sure what to do when they have this safe place he couldn't imagine while they were at the prison or on the road to Virginia. Back at the prison, he tried to live as these people lived — like the outside wasn't slowly but surely coming for them. So he farmed and raised pigs and felt out of sorts when reality smacked the shit out of him. He couldn't be that way this time. He needed to stay alert, and that's all he tried to do since they arrived.

He joined Reg and Deanna. "The pictures in the frames, who are those people?"

Deanna and Reg smiled at each other.

"I assume they're the family who lived here," she said. "Seemed a shame to get rid of smiling faces and nice memories, even if they aren't our own."

He meant to smile but felt the frown cloud his face. Listening to her pie in the sky drivel was more than he could take. His people had lost too much, seen too much to talk like this. It surprised him she was still this way considering a walker had breached their walls just minutes ago.

"You still don't believe," Deanna said with a nod. "You're a hard one to convince."

"So, I hope you saw tonight that we need to make changes," Rick said.

"Have a seat," Deanna said. She remained silent with that politician's smile on her face until he gave in and sat on the couch. "Thank you. You were right. There needs to be changes. We'll have two people at the gate. Tobin and some others are checking the walls to look for the breach."

"But we check the walls regularly," Reg said. "I don't think they'll find one. Unless those dead out there learned to pick up tools."

"Well, I don't think they're climbing over walls," Rick said. "So whatever way they got in, we got a security problem."

"Before we get too far in this security conversation," Deanna said. "Let me say I haven't forgotten why it was we held a meeting tonight. Attacking another community member is unacceptable Rick."

"But beating your wife is?" He challenged.

She sighed. "You were right about that as well. We should have taken it more seriously, but I'm not sure how we're supposed to handle things when Jessie doesn't want to leave him."

"That's because no one gave her any support. Before Pete tried to stop her, she wanted to leave. That's why we were fighting. I didn't attack him."

He watched numerous people die, and he killed countless. He would not watch Jessie die from an abusive husband. That would be the most preventable of deaths in this new world.

"Well, we'll make sure Pete's new home is permanent if that's what she wants. Now, when I said I wanted you and Michonne to work together, it wasn't a suggestion. You two have more in common than you realize."

"How do you figure that?"

"A lot of the safety procedures you see is because of Michonne. And while you are insistent on letting us know just how incompetent we are, you have to admit there are good things about this place. It is, after all, the beginning of civilization."

He wondered if Deanna believed they were the only living people on Earth, that no one else had civilized, prosperous communities. It was run by a psycho, which is ultimately why it failed, but Woodbury was equally impressive. They hadn't run across any, but he wouldn't be surprised if there were communities in the hundreds.

They were interrupted when Spencer walked in. Deanna stood up. "Spencer, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I was thinking maybe it's a good idea to keep watch in the tower." He glanced over at Rick.

Rick could see Deanna was hesitant, so he spoke up before she could say something to dissuade the kid. He stood because he was ready for this conversation to be over. He got what he wanted, and he was ready to go. "That's a good idea, Spencer. Tomorrow we'll work on a schedule. Sasha can take some of those shifts."

Spencer looked to his mother. She nodded more out of defeat than agreement. "I'm going to grab some water and something to eat."

Deanna gripped Reg's arm and watched him head to the kitchen as if the kid was headed to war.

"Michonne shared some concerns about Sasha," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "She was a tax lawyer, not a therapist."

"Yes, but she's good with people who have gone through things. I imagine it's from her own experience. She was out there for a while. She never tells what she's been through but you can see the demons on her face."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Deanna walked over to him. "Then that would make two of us because I happen to agree. Just as I want you to adjust to the community, Sasha needs to do the same."

"I'd rather work with my people."

"I'd rather you work with others so you see them as your people too. Michonne is a good person. Give her a chance to show you. I imagine in another time and place, she would have been a great addition to your group. She publicly vouched for you. No one else in this community other than Waltman did. The others all want you gone. I'm giving you another chance because she sees something in you, as I did. And I'm still in awe of the way your people talked about you. You're too good of a person to give up on. That man," she said as she poked his chest gently with her finger, "He's still in there."

* * *

Michonne sat on the couch attempting to read but her mind kept wandering back to Rick, to what he said to everyone. Other than the biter he carried over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he appeared rational. She saw a few of their faces soften and become receptive to the dangerous truth he spoke — the world outside those walls demanded they be vigilant. It was better to be over-prepared than willing victims. The pounding on her door startled her. It was a police knock. In all her time here, no one ever knocked like that just. Only Rick.

She opened the door greeted with an unreadable look on his face. He was in the same clothes with the biter's blood on his right shoulder and a little across the front of his shirt. He had washed his face and neck but there was still a speck on his ear. Seeing him with that blood on his clothes was as disturbing as the video of when he first arrived in Alexandria. She thought about how much blood he'd spilled. How close he had come to death.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah. Yes." She stepped aside and watched him as he inspected the room, like he'd never been in her home before.

He headed over to the couch and picked up the worn copy of _Grapes of Wrath_. Books were passed around. People had few personal items these days. "Some things never change." He tossed it back on the couch, her place lost.

"Once a reader, always a reader." She followed behind him.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. How can I help you?" She grimaced. She sounded like she was greeting a customer.

"Deanna. She says I should talk to you. Security. She's come around and she's willing to make some changes."

"Okay." She sat down and extended her hand to a spot on the couch next to her but he declined by walking over to the fireplace and leaning on the mantle. "What do you need?"

"People. Who can handle themselves out there?"

"My crew. Scott and Heath. You know about Aaron." She sighed. "And you know about Nicholas. He's rough around the edges and some of Aiden's cockiness rubbed off on him, but he's always come back alive."

"Because I got others killed, like Noah. He's a coward. No."

She forgot about that. She didn't know what to think about it. Glenn seemed legit, and she always had her doubts about Aiden and Nicholas, but no one ever made such complaints before.

"Well, I guess that's it."

"That's it? There has to be over fifty people here. I can't believe you people lasted this long."

She shrugged. "We have a lot of hard workers and everyone contributes to the community, but that's not the same as what you're asking for."

"What about that guy who was sitting next to you? Your friend?" He looked away and walked around the room aimlessly.

"Waltman. Charles Waltman, but we mostly call him Walt. Yeah, he can handle himself. He's seen a lot."

"Did you know him before? You two… you come to Alexandria together?"

"No. He saved me when I was separated from my crew while we were out on a run and we brought him back. He was National Guard. He's great with a gun and can make a weapon out of almost anything." She laughed. "He once took down a biter with a coat hanger. He helped Reg implement his wall design."

"All right, he's great. Got it. If you could, make a list of all the people who know how to handle themselves out there and a list of all the people who can learn."

She went to the desk near the window and grabbed a notepad and a pencil. "There aren't many people but that can change. I think they heard what you said. People have skills and knowledge that make this place what it is. Architecture, masonry, chemistry, teachers, medicine, sewing, engineering. The biggest benefit is this community with the solar panels and other stuff. With your group, we can make it even better."

"I'm not sure I'll ever believe this place it what you all say it is."

"It is. You can trust me."

"I made that mistake before," he mumbled.

Her shoulders slumped. "Why do you do that?" She shook her head. Here she was, thinking they were moving forward by working together for the good of the community. She knew it wasn't wise to pretend things were okay but she hoped this moment could be a step in the right direction.

He looked over at her. "Do what?"

"Why do you always have to take a dig? You're so self-righteous. You're holding the past over me because you feel like it gives you license to look down on me."

"Whatever."

"Rick the saint. You didn't break up the family. You're better than me. You sacrificed. But you didn't sacrifice, did you, Rick?"

"Sacrifice? What did you sacrifice?" He asked with a sneer.

That he didn't think she ever sacrificed in their marriage hurt her. And angered her. It was hard to believe this was the man who made it his mission to teach her love. She remembered everything about the moment. It was a Sunday morning, and they were lying in his bed. The sun was shining through the window and she was wrapped in his arms.

"I love early mornings," she said. She looked up at him and smiled as she ran her fingertips over the stubble on his face.

"I love you," he said.

Those three words, she'd never said them before. She'd never heard them from a man other than her father and grandfather. She felt a lot for Rick even though they hadn't known each other that long. She felt the excitement when she saw him, the sorrow when she had to leave him, missing him after one day. Doing things because they made him happy, things she never did for another man.

She nodded her head. "Okay."

He nudged her so she would look at him. "No. You said you don't know love and I'm going to show you. When you love someone, you say it."

"I love you," she said in the faintest voice. She meant it and it scared her to hear those words coming out her mouth to this man who felt like everything she never had but exactly what she needed.

That morning, the morning of their first I love you's, he looked at her with eyes of happiness. It was a far cry from the look on his face as he stood before her now telling her how she ruined their lives.

"You can make this about whatever you want," he said. "But you're the one who broke up a perfectly happy family. I mean, I got it. All your quirks. At first I liked a lot of it. But then there were some things I didn't understand, like doing things alone, even going on vacations without us… your family. That was you, so be it. But leaving us for good," he said with the shake of his head. "Nah, I didn't get that."

He remembered her going on a vacation alone but he didn't remember why. She booked a sexy trip to New Orleans for two. She planned everything from scouring reviews for the best restaurants and jazz venues to making sure he had the weekend off. When she told him, he barely acknowledged it before giving her a laundry list of reasons they couldn't go — not wanting to leave Carl, the law enforcement charity softball game, hosting the football watch party for the guys, he even mentioned mowing the lawn.

He was neither villain nor hero in the demise of their marriage but he wasn't being honest. She walked over to him. "You're looking at this from a real warped point of view."

"How do you figure? Everything I said happened. Or didn't it?"

"Yeah, it happened. I left but the way you tell it—"

"What? The truth?"

"Our truth is more complicated than you'd like to remember."

"You believe your own lies."

"No, it's not about lies. It's about reality. I don't understand how you've distorted history so much you believe this was all on me and you're the victim. Carl is the only victim. His home was torn apart, and he didn't play a part in it."

"And I did?" He yelled.

"You act like it was all me. You threw us away before I did," she screamed.

He stared at her, stunned. She was equally stunned hearing herself say it, and with such anguish. When her tears betrayed her, she turned her back to compose herself. She didn't want him to see her anguish, because he didn't give a shit.

"What are you talking about? Everything was fine until you decided you didn't want to be there anymore. Home wasn't enough for you."

"That's not true. I told you what I wanted."

"You were never going to be happy in King County. It would end sooner or later. I just wish I would have known before we got married and said till death do us part. Crazy me, I thought marrying someone in King County meant — "

"That I would give up every dream and opportunity that came my way even though I talked about it, and you supported by the way, until those opportunities became a reality."

Maybe she was the fool for thinking when they lay in bed and planned the next stages of their lives and he gave his input on her dreams that he meant it. She declined countless opportunities because he didn't think it was best for them. He didn't want to leave Georgia, didn't want to leave King County. She had a feeling, he wasn't even willing to leave 412 Candler Street.


	7. Big Little Lies

Restless. Confused. Emotional. The standard feelings whenever he had interaction longer than thirty seconds with Michonne since he arrived in Alexandria. First, he hadn't adjusted to seeing her face every day. Those deep brown eyes, her lips. He never thought he'd see her again. And once the world changed, from the CDC to the farm, to the prison, and then the struggle of the longest road trip, life didn't leave much time to think about her. But when they arrived, as he looked down at the capitol while they waited for Glenn and Abraham to change the battery in the RV, he thought about her. He wondered if she survived. If she found some place safe to live or if she was out in the wild trying to make it from day to day.

He wondered what kind of person she had become. Change was inevitable. Everyone changed, even the assholes some way or another. She was strong and fierce and smart, and the right amount of skeptical and she knew how to protect herself, he made sure of that, but how had she changed? He wondered how she differed from the woman he knew and how she was the same.

He climbed out of bed hoping a walk would help clear his head, which was filled with thoughts of Michonne. It was still dark, and the community was still asleep. He seemed to roam a lot when the others were still. That seemed like a message — his eyes were wide open while the others were sleeping. All he did was fight for something like this place for his boy and now that they were here it still didn't feel right. It kept him up at night. He hadn't slept through the night since they arrived. He wondered if the split with Michonne had been different would her presence make it better. Hell, there was no way any split with Michonne could have been anything other than how it played out. They were all or nothing. Too intense for anything in between. Neither of their emotions knew mediocrity.

There were countless memories, both good and bad, but the one at the front of his mind was their first date. He asked her out and even though she paused she had a smile on her face that let him know she was interested. So when she said yes, he asked what time he should pick her up that night.

"You don't waste any time," she said.

"Not giving you a chance to change your mind."

He never felt so self-assured in his interaction with a woman, not even his first wife and he knew she liked him because a mutual friend told him. And not with the town "sure thing" who wanted to comfort him after his wife's death under the guise of a horrible ambrosia salad she brought over. But with Michonne, it was a different story. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he pursued her or if she just let him think he did.

He made sure to not plan a movie and dinner date because that was a huge time commitment and he wanted to leave her wanting more. He didn't want to run out of interesting things about himself before the entrée arrived. He was already limited; there was nothing spectacular about his life. He lived in the same town all his life. He never traveled outside the country. No exciting hobbies. The thing was, without really talking about themselves, the conversation was endless and it wasn't forced. They found themselves at the park close to midnight swinging side by side, laughing as the wind blew their hair as they spun on the merry-go-round. She said it was late and she should get going but it was the last thing she wanted to do, he could hear it in her voice and see the way her eyes lingered on his mouth and how close her body was to his.

"I'm not ready to let you go," he said then kissed her.

He didn't. And then…

 _You threw us away before I did._

How did they get there? What happened in between? It was his life; he was there for all of it but apparently there was a lot going on that he didn't see it. They talked every day, but they weren't on the same page. How could they share the same bed and live different lives? It was like they weren't in the same marriage. Their marriage was perfect until one day she woke up and decided it wasn't enough.

He never threw their marriage away, and he definitely didn't disregard her dreams. She acted as if he didn't care about her life beyond being his wife. He didn't hold her back. He cheered her every victory. Consoled her after the rare defeats. He read every article about her in the _AJC_ and those law publications he'd never heard of before he met her. Yes, she talked about wanting to move but he felt it was because she was restless and unsure. The problem was there was no focus to her plans. If it wasn't one offer or city, it was another. Entertainment law in Los Angeles, voting rights reform at a think tank, and he was pretty sure there was a position in the New York City mayor's office. All the opportunities were as different as the last.

He didn't want to disrupt Carl's life by packing up and moving just for them to get to a new place and she would itch for another experience two years later. He didn't want his son to bounce from pillar to post; he wanted his son to have a home. Carl had that in King County. Rick respected that Carl was a person too with his own dreams and goals and feelings. He wasn't part of the house belongings to be packed and shipped from place to place. He had friends, family, memories, special spots where important things already happened in his young life.

Carl didn't take it well when Michonne left but he tried to put on a brave face. What made it so cruel was that he didn't just tolerate Michonne, he loved her. There was never that awkward period other step-parents and step-children had. She let him know she'd never try to replace his mother. She was a natural with him. He opened up to her. He once again showed a side of himself a boy could only have with a mother type. She took up where his mother left off, instilling that empathetic, gentle side. Then she took it all away.

* * *

Michonne hated to cry. Not because she hated to show her emotions or feel feelings, because it would come to this — where her eyes were burning near swollen shut, and a constant headache that hurt just enough to be an annoyance. After Rick left last night, she mourned the loss of her marriage all over again like she didn't do that enough when it happened. Like she didn't cry herself to sleep for forty-two consecutive nights in her place after she moved from Georgia to Virginia. She refused to call that place back then a home. With dim lighting, bare walls, and no laughter, it was anything but a home. The house agreed with her. Like an act of solidarity, it had a draft that made it cold all the time — no warmth. Nope, not a home.

She didn't want to think about the night before, but how could she not? At first she thought there was a river between them but they were underwater and drowning. In his mind, she woke up one morning and decided she didn't want to be married anymore. In actuality, they discussed moving, and he eventually agreed that, if the offer she couldn't say no to came along, and it worked for everyone, they would move. He admitted it would be hard for him to not use his veto power and he wielded it when the offers rolled in. When Los Angeles came up, it was too far away. She understood. New York City was too busy, too big. She understood that too. But when the perfect offer came, he still said no.

Typically, she was up bright and early, most times with nowhere to go, it was a discipline instilled in her early, laziness was a sin in her mother's eyes. But this morning, she had no intention of leaving the cocoon she'd made for herself in those cotton sheets until she heard the knock on her door. Deanna sent word she wanted to meet with her and Rick.

She walked around the community, hoping the sunshine would brighten her mood before her meeting with Deanna and Rick that morning.

"Mrs. Grimes," a voice called out behind her.

She turned to see Sasha headed her way with her rifle and a duffel bag. Michonne looked around.

"Don't worry," Sasha tossed Michonne a smug look and stood next to her. "No one around. Your secret is safe."

"For now?"

"For however long you keep it secret, which is something I don't understand. Why is it a secret?"

"It's complicated."

"No." Sasha started walking.

"Excuse me?" Michonne kept in step with her.

"Most things are simple as hell. It's the surrounding emotions that's complicated, and even that's manufactured. I really can't think of a good reason to keep it a secret."

"Because he hates the sight of me." She looked over at an intrigued Sasha. "That's not something I want to tell the world and I don't want to talk about it."

"Maggie said you were instrumental in us staying."

That Sasha dropped it, just like that surprised her. These days more than ever people didn't respect boundaries. That's what happened when you lived on top of each other and every minor thing someone thought or did could mean life or death for everyone.

She forgot Deanna made Maggie her right hand. So little time in Alexandria, but Deanna trusted Maggie and Rick with more information than people who had been there from the beginning. In fairness, most of those Alexandrians didn't want to know anything besides what they would eat that day and who had the Prince hits album. And though she was worried about the team's power grab, Deanna was just as responsible for it by not only making Rick constable, but making Maggie her new world political intern.

"That was Deanna's decision to make. And to be clear, only Rick was in danger in exile."

"No." She shook her head. "We're a package deal. We all would have left with him."

Michonne stopped in her tracks and stared at her.

Sasha's stopped walking. "You seemed surprised by that. Rick can drive you nuts but," Sasha looked off and shrugged. "He's a good dude. A pat on the back from him makes you feel like you're on top of the world."

"Even now? He doesn't seem like that." Other than Carl, maybe he would behave that way toward Daryl and Carol, maybe Glenn and Maggie, but she couldn't imagine Rick being a supportive motivator for Sasha and here she was defending him. Sasha's loyalty made Michonne that much more angry with Rick and his behavior.

"Eh. Who am I to judge? He's been through a lot."

"So have you."

Whatever the look on her face was, it wasn't a smile, Michonne had yet to see that on Sasha's face, once Michonne alluded to her trauma, Sasha's face markedly morphed to something darker. "I have to go."

"More target practice?" She followed behind Sasha as she headed for the gate. "You think if you don't talk about it you'll forget, but you won't. You'll remember it like it was yesterday. You're spending your time in here thinking about when you will be out there." Michonne to Sasha.

"Sooner or later, in here becomes out there. You can't escape it. Not the betrayal, not the scarcity, not the darkness or the defeat, not even the death."

Holly noticed them coming, and the gate was open by the time they got there. Michonne hadn't planned to go outside the gates, especially without her sword, but she didn't want to end this moment. She was speaking and Sasha was responding. Sort of. Once they were away from the gate, and out of earshot, she continued.

"I thought I was fighting it," Michonne said. "Fighting the complacency by not appreciating this place, but I wasn't. I was sleep-walking in pain. Being ready for whatever is out here is living. It's the strongest reminder of what you have to fight for. That's what keeps me ready."

"I appreciate what this place is, but it's not the real world."

"That doesn't have to be all bad. Some of the real world is shit. I don't mind it not being inside those gates. What are you guys fighting for if not a place like Alexandria? Why not just lie there the next time a biter comes at you?"

"Some people, all they know how to do is fight and not give up."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

They walked for, what Michonne imagined, was about half a mile in silence. She figured she was getting more words than Sasha gave anyone else in Alexandria even if most of those them were contrarian. That's an attitude Michonne never found charming, but it felt like progress for Sasha. Anything was better than the silent disgust she radiated when she first arrived even if Michonne understood where that pain came from.

She stood back and watched as Sasha placed empty cans in different angles and distances. One slightly behind a tree, one in the bushes, and another on top of a rock. Michonne kept pacing, looking around. She was vulnerable, not even a large stick to ward off a biter that might happen their way.

Sasha began to shoot. The metal dings when she hit the cans was rhythmic, almost musical. Michonne counted, Sasha took two seconds at most to adjust to a new target and shoot.

"You're a natural. You don't need this."

Every day since they arrived, Sasha left to take target practice.

"Why are you out here? Why do you care?"

"I want to help."

"Maybe there's no help for this."

"You made mistakes, you may have even spiraled, but you can come back from that. I know." She stared at Sasha's remaining targets waiting to see her hit them and cause them to fly off, like she always did.

"What makes you think that?" Sasha asked. She stopped shooting but kept the rifle to her face, looking through the scope.

"That you've made mistakes or that you can come back?"

"Both."

"Because we all have."

Sasha lowered her weapon from her face and turned to Michonne. The sun lit the golden hue of Sasha's skin. She stared at Michonne as if studying her, to the point of making Michonne uncomfortable. "How come you and Rick aren't together anymore?"

Michonne looked away. This was a give and take relationship she was establishing with Sasha, fair enough, but she wasn't sure she could give what Sasha wanted. She wanted to help Sasha with her grief while Sasha seemed only interested in her marriage. That was too personal.

"Did you cheat on him?"

"No." Her head whipped back and looked at Sasha.

"Well, he didn't cheat on you and he didn't hit you."

That was the thing about Rick. He was a good guy and nobody who ever met him doubted it. Sasha was certain that whatever happened in their marriage wasn't Rick's fault. That meant it was her fault. Rick thought that. Maybe it was true because she thought it countless times too.

"That's not the only reason a marriage ends," Michonne mumbled.

"What was your mistake? That you came back from? Or maybe you haven't come back from it. That's okay. You don't have to tell. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Secrets are never as hidden as you think they are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The way you and Rick look at each other when the other isn't looking." She shrugged. "I wouldn't have guessed you were once married, but I would have known there was something there. Love. Hate. Annoyance. Whatever. A lot of something you shouldn't have for a person you just met."

Sasha went back to shooting with Michonne doing all the reflecting. That wasn't her plan when she left Alexandria.

* * *

The cough that was nothing to worry about didn't go away and turned into a fever and a cold sweat. Flu, pneumonia, some generic viral infection, who knew? Now Carl was in the infirmary. When Rick first walked through the doors of the infirmary back when they arrived in Alexandria, he was surprised to see it looked less like a house and more like a clinic. There was a clipboard with a sign-in sheet on a tall, skinny table. What was once the formal dining room, served as an exam room. There was a blood pressure monitor, stands for IVs, actual damn IVs, gauze, bandages, cotton balls, alcohol, tongue depressors, and a cabinet full of medicine.

He wasn't interested in Pete being anywhere near Carl and Pete wasn't ready to look at Rick let alone talk to him or be responsible should anything happen to his son. So the compromise was for Denise to provide immediate care for Carl with Pete overseeing. Denise was a psychiatrist, but she went to medical school. That didn't really make Rick feel better. He studied science in school but he couldn't remember anything from the periodic table beyond H2O. As hard as it was, he had to put his faith in these strangers.

As he climbed the stairs to Carl's room he heard laughter. Carl still didn't have his energy, he could tell by the weak laugh, but it was still nice to hear. He smiled as he made it to the room but paused when he heard Michonne voice. The door was ajar just enough for him to see her sitting in a chair pulled up to Carl's bed; her back to the door.

"But seriously," she said. "Your father isn't perfect, but he's a great man. And just like you, I've learned a lot from him and we're still learning."

"Yeah," Carl said. "You got more to learn than me."

"Don't be a PITA." She laughed.

Rick smiled, recalling that was once her G-rated way of telling Carl he was being a pain in the ass. Which he usually was, smart kids seemed to be wired that way. Carl ran around saying it all the time, his way of being able to say a bad word. Rick heard a voice in the room next door and quickly walked past the went to check it out.

"Any day now, feel free to wake up," Denise said to a sleeping Tara.

He watched as she smoothed Tara's hair. She was gentle. He couldn't imagine Pete caring enough to talk to a conscious patient let alone an unconscious one.

He stepped inside. "How's she doing?" His voice was soft, but he wasn't sure why. It seemed like the proper thing to do even though Tara wasn't just sleeping; she was in a coma.

"Hanging in there, but I wish she'd wake up. The longer she's unconscious…"

She didn't have to finish. He knew what she was saying. For the first time, he heard the steady beep of the heart rate monitor connected to Tara. Maybe these people didn't know how to kill a walker, but they knew a lot about surviving. That was something he hadn't respected until now.

"I'll give you a few minutes," she said. "I have to update her chart and then you can meet me next door. Then I'll check on Carl."

She closed the door behind her. He walked over to Tara's bed. It was his first time he had visited her since she arrived back at Alexandria unconscious thanks to Aiden's stupidity.

He grabbed her hand. "Sorry I haven't been back to see you sooner. Things have been crazy. It looks like they're taking good care of you. Better than we could have done, though I think we both know if it was just our group, you wouldn't be in here. Carl is right next door. He's got some bad cold or something."

He heard a knock and then Denise's voice in Carl's room. He squeezed Tara's hand. "Wake up. Vacation's over."

When he entered Carl's room, Denise was listening to his chest with a stethoscope. Michonne was still sitting in the chair.

"You know, there's no more school so you can quit pretending," Rick said as he entered the room. "How long you gonna stay on vacation? It's been three days." He stood at the foot of the bed.

"Hi, dad," he whispered enthusiastically.

"Hey. How you feeling?"

"Great," he sang.

Rick looked over at Denise.

She smiled. "Meds. He's sleepy."

"Ah." He looked at Carl. "You're looking better."

Actually, he was pallid. Sickness, even a cough, felt like an arbiter of doom these days. It wasn't just a cough or just a sneeze or fatigue or a cut while dealing with walkers. It was pending death. It was like seeing Carl when he was a baby, just home from the hospital. He was up more than his wife those first few weeks, checking for the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. This place is what he fought for — for Carl. So something treatable didn't take his boy away from him. Because that, Rick could not handle. He wasn't built to bury his son. It was far too cruel to even imagine.

Denise needed something on the other side of the bed and Michonne stood and moved her chair to make room for her.

When she stood, he saw what she was wearing — black leggings and a loose-fitting tank top exposed the black sports bra underneath. A pair of black and gray Reebok were on her feet. He moved and sat in the chair by the window and thought back to when they met. He took advantage of Carl spending July on St Simons with Lori's retired parents. It was early in a charity 5k when a jerk barreled through the crowd and knocked down a few people. Michonne was one of them and he helped her up, pulling her to the side before the oncoming pack trampled her. She tweaked her ankle, but was determined to finish the race so he stayed with her to make sure she was okay. They ran together, more interested in each other than beating their personal records. They exchanged numbers and never looked back. At first glance, they had nothing in common but carried on the most organic conversations from the beginning. He liked action and comedy movies; she loved those indie movies no one ever heard of. He liked country music — and not that new shit; he loved Strait and Yoakam — and she liked a bit of everything but especially R&B and funk. She was a voracious reader, he was an occasional reader. What they didn't have in common was irrelevant because what they had in common and how they felt when they were together more than made up for it. She always made time for her parents' calls and loved doing work in the community, especially with kids despite not having any of her own. Those were signs of good people, that's what Lucille, one of the dispatcher at the sheriff's office, said after she met Michonne. They practically lived together that month Carl was away.

"Rick."

He snapped back to the present to see Michonne and Denise staring at him. "Sorry. What?"

"Do you have any questions?" Denise asked.

He looked over at Carl, his eyes were closed; he appeared to be asleep.

"Other than what's wrong with him and when will he get better?"

"Let's step outside," Denise said and walked out into the hallway. She stood by the door and when Rick and Michonne followed, she closed it. She glanced at Michonne. "This isn't exactly the world before with HIPAA laws, but," Denise said as she looked at Rick.

"It's okay."

Michonne gave him a smile, possibly the first one she gave him since they arrived. It was a small one, not the mega-watt perfect for a toothpaste commercial smile he couldn't say no to.

"Well?" Rick asked Denise. "Is it some kind of weird virus? Something you've never seen before? Maybe it's some crazy strain for this new crazy world." He ran his hands through his hair and then let it rest on his hip.

"There was a saying in medical school. When you hear hoofbeats, think of horses not zebras."

"What?"

"If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck," Michonne said.

Michonne probably never heard that saying about hoofbeats before, Rick thought, but instantly she knew. Shane wasn't one for smart women. He said it made them defiant, said a man's castle knew no peace when a woman had to show how smart she was. Rick didn't believe in Shane's shit. He loved her brain. She watched Jeopardy and knew more answers than anyone he knew.

"Exactly," Denise said with a smile. "There's no reason to think it's more until we know it's more. But there is something that concerns me. I spoke to Pete because I didn't want to go above him and go straight to Deanna. He already doesn't like that I'm around. And," she glanced at Rick. "He's been more surly as of late."

"What is it, Denise?" Michonne asked.

"We're low on antibiotics. With the bug going around and Tara. Aiden's team was supposed to go out on a run but things happened. The only way people get better is to take enough meds. I don't want to half the needed dosage."

"Is there someplace nearby?" Rick asked. Whatever he needed to do, wherever he needed to go, he'd make sure Carl had what he needed. "Tell me where and I'll go."

"Follow me," Denise said.

They followed her downstairs and into the kitchen. There was an open phone book on the island countertop. There was a red circle around one listing.

"This right here," she said. "It's an apothecary. Most people think they're just essential oils, herbs, and crystals."

"Aren't they?" Michonne asked.

"Some of them can be, but if it's a true full-service apothecary, it'll have drugs. Real drugs." She looked back and forth from Michonne to Rick.

"Write down what you need," Rick said.

"Okay," Denise said then walked off.

Rick and Michonne stared at each other.

* * *

Michonne gently rocked back and forth on the infirmary's porch swing. She bit down on her lip, unable to contain the smile on her face. She and Rick were in the same room for over ten seconds and he didn't scream at her and she didn't want to take a swing at him. That was growth. No matter how infinitesimal, she'd take it. And even better, Rick and Carl would stay in Alexandria. She was so happy about their safety she didn't think what that would feel like to see Rick every day. Her future included Rick and Carl again.

Were they supposed to make today a new day and move forward? Should they try to resolve their issues, talk about how and why things ended? At least be friends if nothing more. More. Did she want more? She hadn't thought about a man in that way since the world changed. But her mind was moving faster than reality, and definitely faster than Rick. Their last conversation was an angry one and while she was in the infirmary, he didn't actually say one word to her. He simply didn't display his disgust, and that was a step up.

She saw Jessie walking down the sidewalk with a Tupperware container in her hands. Michonne's gut instinct was to be upset with her but what Rick did, his fight with Pete and almost getting kicked out wasn't her fault. What Rick did, even if on her behalf, was his choice.

"Hi. You're not sick too are you?" She asked as she climbed the stairs and joined Michonne on the porch, still keeping a distance.

"No. Just visiting Carl."

"Same." She lifted the Tupperware container. "Is Rick in there?"

Michonne nodded.

"I wanted to drop off a little food for Rick and Carl. I know the last thing he's thinking about is cooking."

It had only been a couple of days and she was angling to get in Rick's life? She was like those King County women who brought over bland casseroles after Rick was discharged from the hospital after his concussion, like he didn't have a wife to care for him. They didn't really see her as a wife, just a woman Rick married, but not a wife. Like she didn't deserve that title.

"Well, they've got Carol. Apparently she's Susie Homemaker. I'm sure she's feeding them," Michonne looked Jessie up and down. Her top a little tighter than anything Michonne ever noticed her in.

"It's my way of saying thank you for — "

"Beating up your husband?" She shook her head. "Rick won't want a thank you for that. He hates it happened. You don't know him."

"And you do?" Jessie frowned.

She didn't answer because she didn't want to lie about her relationship with Rick but it wasn't something she wanted to tell Jessie. She didn't know this version of Rick. At least, at first she didn't think she did. She doubted who Rick was when he first entered the gates but she saw, at his core, he was the same man. He was a wonderful, good, strong man she trusted. There was a reason a group as diverse as those with him all had one thing in common — their respect for and loyalty to Rick.

"So I hear you left Pete. Why didn't you leave before?"

"Rick gave me strength."

"So you're not doing it for you or your kids? You're doing it for Rick?"

"I'm not doing it for him. I did it because of him." She tossed her hair to the side. "I'm sorry. What business is this of yours?"

Michonne shook her head. "Your marriage is none of my business."

"I don't think you've ever started a conversation with me, never said more than two words to me even when I had that bruise everyone saw. Why do you care?" Jessie rolled her eyes. "You don't. You want to stand in judgment of me." She marched past Michonne and entered the infirmary.

"Shit," she muttered. She shouldn't have said anything to Jessie. Michonne looked up and noticed Waltman standing on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. She joined him on the sidewalk but kept walking.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"Jessie is a clinger, and she's got her eyes on Rick."

"Maybe getting laid is what he needs. Maybe it'll calm his ass down." He laughed.

"Not her." Not anyone to be honest. What would a life of seeing Rick with someone else do to her? She couldn't imagine being okay with him kissing someone the way he kissed her. Moaning in another woman's ear when he was inside her the way he did with Michonne.

"You?"

She stared at him. Waltman was her friend. She trusted him more than anyone in the community. And if she could tell Sasha, she could tell him. She looked around. "Remember, I told you I'm from Georgia."

She could see it in the way his eyes lit up. He connected the dots, of Rick and his group traveling from Georgia. Waltman was smart like that. You tossed a little out there and he picked it up. "So, you knew each other? Did you date?" He smiled. "Which, I can't see, but — "

"Married. We separated, and I moved here for a career change."

"Okay, holy shit." His hand on his chin. "And you're the one who wanted it because that's why he's always got daggers in his eyes when he looks at you."

She wouldn't say she wanted it. Was that what an impartial eye saw? No wonder Rick hated her. "You could see that?" For a moment she was worried. He wasn't the first to notice something between her and Rick. If it were anyone other than Sasha and Waltman she would be concerned. But they were different. It wasn't that they were quiet. Not all quiet people were observant, and that's what they were. They saw everything.

"It's obvious there's something going on between you two. Way too tense. I've thought about telling Heath and Scott to keep an eye on you."

"He'd never hurt me," she said with a wave of her hand. She exhaled through her mouth and threw her head back, looking up to the sky the color of the setting sun. "It's complicated, Walt."

He stopped walking. "Complicated because you still love him?"

Waltman was her friend but these emotions she wasn't ready to share. There was a lot to unpack regarding the dissolution of her marriage with Rick. Their anger, their failures, their pain, and their love. What they became and what they could salvage was anyone's guess. But she wanted to salvage something because he needed her right now. His group knew this post-civilized version of Rick, but she knew the Rick Grimes who would never want to be that man the world forced him to be. And that had to mess with his mind. Because a heart as pure as his doing the things he had to do, that surely manifested itself into something even he couldn't comprehend.

"When you spoke at the meeting… Usually you're pragmatic. That time it was more emotional."

"It's just complicated because it's complicated." She headed back to her place, suddenly not wanting to talk to anyone anymore.

* * *

Rick stood at Michonne's door, fist in the air, ready to knock but he couldn't do it. He remembered what Carl said to him a couple of days ago.

 _Why are you afraid to talk to her? Be friends at least. Or more. Maybe the end wasn't the end, maybe it was a pause button._

He didn't dig further into Carl's mind but he felt like Carl was asking him to rekindle the relationship. That could not happen. What they once were they could never be again. There was an ocean of hurt he didn't think he could cross even if he wanted to. Even though the end was rough, with the death of his first wife he was still brokenhearted. He came back from it but he wasn't capable of coming back from a second one. It changed everything. He went numb.

There was no way to dream, not with a broken heart. No imagination. No visions of a future. Because you couldn't see beyond the darkness. There was nothing. Just a blank space. He'd never give Michonne the satisfaction of knowing he wallowed far too long, longer than he'd like to admit after she left. He used to wake up every morning thinking it was a bad dream then he looked over, and she wasn't next to him, her half of the closet was empty.

Before he could knock, the door opened.

"Rick?" She frowned. "Is Carl okay?"

"It's not about Carl. I wanted to talk about this," he said as he lifted a piece of paper.

"What's that?"

"The list of your people and their skills."

She stepped to the side, and he entered. As always, her place was spotless. Meanwhile, back at their house, they'd only been there a short time but had things strewn all about thanks mostly to Daryl with a little help from Carl.

Rick and Carl lived like true bachelors for a few years, meanwhile Michonne was the person whose home looked more like a museum but they compromised. Michonne was lax on the laundry but she absolutely could not handle dishes in the sink. She taught Carl a few tricks, especially with folding clothes, that Rick noticed Carl still did.

"Want anything to drink or eat?"

"No." He sat on the couch, his body stiffened when she sat next to him. His eyes closed, and he took a deep breath and it took him back to Georgia when they were married. "Is that Rainbath?"

She looked over at him but he looked straight ahead, not really wanting to have any connection with her but it slipped out.

"You remember that? I always that was crazy. Out of everything — the Chanel No. 5, Carolina Herrera, Jo Malone, Flowerbomb — the shower gel out of Walgreen's is what did it for you."

Sometimes, when she was just out the shower, he would pull her into his arms and bury his nose in her neck. Even though she wore expensive clothes and had expensive tastes, it was her simplicity he loved the most. Like the shower gel or seeing her in a pair of jeans instead of her designer suits and heels. Seeing her hair pulled up off her neck. He wasn't going there with all those feel good memories but he could be civil even if it was hard. Because even though he saw the loving way she was with, she still left them.

"We need to make it so it's difficult for the walkers to just walk right up to the gates."

"Like a ditch?"

He nodded. "Maybe and old cars and other things."

"Barriers, almost like a maze or wires, something for them to get caught up in."

"Exactly." He pointed at her.

She smiled. "Good idea." She took the pencil from his hand and drew on the back on the paper.

He watched her take the idea in his head and put it down on paper. They plowed through gate duty schedules, which almost anyone could handle, and tower duty. Sasha would be in charge of that and she'd teach marksmanship. She rivaled Shane's skill, maybe she could match his ability to teach anyone to shoot.

"Final thing," Rick said. "Hand weapon skills. Rosita can put together training classes. Make sure people know how to kill a walker. How to use whatever nearby to stay alive. You won't always have guns, knives, or swords." He looked at her's hanging over the fireplace.

She shifted in her seat and looked away from the paper he was writing on.

"What? Say it." He knew whatever she didn't say, that what she held in, would fill the air between them so she might as well say it so it could be dealt with.

"You don't think it would make people feel a certain way about yet another one of you in charge?" She raised her hands as is giving up. "I don't have a problem but it's about getting these people on board. Yeah, the biter getting in scared some, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of them chalked it up to a one time freak incident."

"Okay, any recommendations? Can't keep using the same few people like you and Aaron. You have your own things to do."

"Maybe Francine. I mean, let her connect with Rosita, I'm sure she can still learn a few things, but she's got guts."

As they talked, he realized she was there — present like she had never been during their marriage. At first, while they dated she was but by the time the wedding date approached he could see a difference. He convinced himself it was wedding jitters and all the planning but she tackled it like planning a business meeting. Here and now, she looked him in his eyes. Didn't just nod and grunt. Her questions were appropriate replies to his words just spoken and the emotions they conveyed. Not generalities.

"This has been great," she whispered. "Working together."

He stood. "I have to get going."

She followed him to the door.

"I'm going to that apothecary tomorrow."

"I'll go with you."

"I think you should stay here."

"Why?" She frowned.

For one, he needed someone rooted in reality that these people would listen to. She was that person. And he didn't know how he felt about being out there alone with her. They hadn't worked together out there before. With his people, they moved without saying a word. Sometimes that was the best weapon out there. And she'd be a distraction. Too many emotions, too much of a past. He didn't need that out there. Couldn't afford to. Not anymore.

"Stay back with Carl. In case anything happens."

"What could happen? Besides, I'm sure you trust Daryl and Carol."

"You know his medical history."

"I can give it to Denise. Besides, he's not allergic to anything, and he's had nothing serious happen, I mean other than getting shot and stuff I wouldn't know."

"If a decision needs to be made and I'n not here — "

Realization colored her eyes. "Don't talk like that. Besides, I'll be there to make sure you get back to Carl. There's a hundred reasons I'm best for this. There's nothing else to say," she said before he could say another word.

He shook his head.

"I know this area better than you and your people."

That was true, which would help him get there and back. He nodded and headed down the steps and to the sidewalk. "Fine."

"I know how to shoot and I have a sword."

"You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"There was a time when that's what you loved about me."

Hearing her say he loved her hit him hard all over. He was out of sorts, unsure of how to feel or respond. The angry part of him wanted to stay and challenge her. Why would she run from a man who loved her? He shook his head and headed down the sidewalk. Funny, the things he loved about her were a pain in his ass now, even if they could come in handy.


	8. One Day at a Time

Michonne barely slept the night before, eager to get the medication for the community, anxious about being alone with Rick on a run. Before leaving, she visited Carl who couldn't contain his excitement she and Rick would spend time together. _All I want is for you to be friends_ , he said. But she knew he wanted more from their possible reconciliation. How could he not? He was a kid who loved and lost his family and now all the pieces were in the same place again. Putting them all back together, that was easier said than done, especially since Rick visited earlier and didn't mention she was going with him. She wasn't on his mental radar.

In some ways, the new world was the same as the old. Some people cared about everyone and most people only cared about themselves. As far as the Alexandrians who never left the community were concerned, as long as the pantry had something to eat they were at ease. A run group leaving never interested them. So it was surprising to see that, for whatever reason, their departure created a crowd. She wasn't sure if they knew what the run was for or how they even knew it was happening.

"How about I go with you?" Waltman looked over her shoulder. "My go-bag is packed and by my front door. Take me two minutes."

With a shake of her head, she patted his arm. "Not necessary."

"You think I was kidding about keeping an eye on you?" He looked past her again.

She turned and looked in the direction Waltman was looking. Rick stood a few yards away talking to Daryl, but he had his eyes on her and Waltman. She turned back around and faced Waltman. "I'll be fine. I think it'll do us good to be out there alone. Away from everyone."

"Why?"

"I think Rick and I getting along could help bridge the gap between the groups. So it's not us and them, but all of us."

"I don't see how. No one even knows there's bad blood between you."

She stared at him. Wondering what point he was trying to make. "If we all work together and have each other's back it'll change things. Look around. No one even stands next to anyone they didn't know two weeks ago."

He looked around. "Carol is over there with some women."

"She's like a double agent."

"Fine. Maybe your connection will make things better for everyone but it's not the only reason you want it. I mean, you were married to the man."

She took a step back as if distancing herself from that notion. "I haven't thought about Rick that way in a long time."

"Not since he arrived?" He looked skeptical.

"I've thought about our past but I haven't thought about a similar future. Why would I want what didn't work the first time?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting a chance to fix what you broke, but don't forget he's not the man you once knew."

"None of us are who we were. We've all changed. We've all done things and felt things the old us would like to believe we'd never do or believe. That doesn't make him a bad person."

"I never said bad, just different."

Rick headed their way. "Let's get going." No asking if she was ready. No acknowledging Waltman's presence. No excuse me for interrupting.

They both went for the driver's door, their hands touching. It was like it always was when they touched — electric.

"I know the way," she said.

He stared at her for a moment and then gave a slight nod of his head as he looked down at the ground, not a nod to her acknowledging she was right. It was almost as if he nodded to himself, maybe saying something about her being as bossy, a word he used a lot that he never understood why she hated. He went to the other side of the van. She looked back at Waltman, who made a face and put up two fingers to remind her that's all it would take to grab his go-bag and join them.

"See you later," she said.

"If you're not back before the sun goes down we're coming for you."

She turned the key, but the engine didn't turn over immediately. She sent out a prayer to the universe and tried again, this time the van roared to life. She always liked the van. It was the choice of a planner and she was a planner. They were headed out for medicine, they would be back by sundown, but she didn't want to leave behind anything extra they may find on the way and the space always provided comfort if they needed to hang around for an extended period.

There was a tape deck and like Aaron and his license plate hunt, she made it her own little fun to hunt down cassette tapes when she was out on a run. Sometimes the silliness of wanting and searching for something that didn't keep you alive brought some needed levity. Her prized find was the Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam _Spanish Fly_ album.

Denise ran up to the passenger's side. "Don't feel bad if there's nothing there. We have enough medicine for Carl and the others. My overly cautious mind would feel better if we have more."

"We need this," Rick said. "We all plan on being around for a long time, right?"

Denise smiled. "Right." She took a few steps back and waved as they drove through the gate.

She drove down the desolate street that was surely at one time a beautiful mile-long stretch of verdant fields separating the privileged people of the community from the rest of the world. Now it was overgrown and unkempt.

The drive in the van was a silent one. Silence was rarely uncomfortable for her. In fact, most times she wished people would just shut the hell up. There was a time when silence from Rick didn't bother her, back when things were good between them. She respected and understood that he was a man of few words; that his resounding love said all that needed to be said. But this silence was painful. Painful and harmful because of all the things that weren't being said. Things left unsaid was like poison in the system and you eventually choked on it. She'd rather they yelled and argued. Unfortunately, when things didn't go well between them they did more choking than yelling.

They became more alert as they passed more buildings. The deserted gas station. The church. The private school. They both sat up a little straighter, bodies stiffer, ready for whatever came their way. It usually took four miles from the gates before she felt the adrenaline of fear, the weight of unease. It came sooner now, out here with Rick instead of her usual run partners. She knew Rick was no less capable, in fact, based on the interviews he was like G.I. Joe out here, but they didn't know each other's habits, strengths, and weaknesses out in the open. These days you needed to be like a special forces team, able to communicate without words. She, Scott, and Heath had hand signals for everything.

She thought back to Waltman's comments — implying that she wanted more from Rick than peace. What she wanted more than anything was to get on the other side of the pain. She carried anger and guilt with her for so long but those weren't the feelings she wanted to have for Rick. She wanted joy and laughter and love, the things they shared once upon a time.

Driving through the suburbs, it was still hard to believe this was life. That a version of those futuristic, doomsday movies she, Rick, and Carl watched on the couch together as a family came to fruition. They planned their survival plans, what they would do to survive if ever in those situations. She thought it would be more like _Minority Report_ or _The Matrix_ or, at the extreme, _Mad Max_. She recalled none of those movies filled with the dead walking the land. They never planned for that. They also never planned to be apart when the world ended.

"Take a left up ahead onto Braddock," Rick said.

"Parts of Braddock are jammed and we don't know what's on the other end. It's better to take Popes Head Road."

He studied the map, his focus clear in his furrowed brow then shook his head. "No. That takes us farther out."

"But we know it's cleared."

"We need to get there and back. I'm not interested in a sightseeing tour. I need to get back to Carl."

"In all the places in the world, even in the best of times, I'm not interested in seeing the back roads of Virginia. But it's a known route. Going someplace we don't know could get us stuck out there and take twice as long or worse. I know this area."

His face was drawn tight with his heavy sigh of defeat filling the van. He tossed the map on the dashboard and leaned back in the seat and looked out the window, away from her. She supposed that was his tacit capitulation. The drive remained tense then it got worse.

"Shit," she muttered as she took her foot off the gas and pressed down on the brakes. "Must have been that bad storm a few weeks ago. No one's been this way since."

There were two massive trees stretched across the narrow road.

"So, we going out farther and we're still screwed. You planned for this?"

She could argue or she could find an alternate route to their destination. As much as she hated his smugness over an act of Mother Nature, getting into an argument in the middle of nowhere wasn't productive. She grabbed the map from the dashboard and studied it. "We're not far," she said as she looked around. "We go back to Good Homes Road, find a place to park the van and go by foot the rest of the way."

"It's a known route, huh?"

He was making it hard to ignore him but she did it. They parked the van behind a barn and grabbed their bags and put them on their backs. The sun bore down on her back, searing one particular spot on the back of her neck. She rubbed it trying for a reprieve when the clouds didn't block the sun. They walked through the woods, and when possible, used the road as a guide.

"There it is," she said as she pointed ahead.

It took almost two hours to walk from the van to the shopping plaza. She always liked outside shopping venues like this with its large fountain in the square's center. There were a lot of stores but they didn't have time to scavenge. Rick was already anxious about getting back to Carl. They hit the apothecary, filling both their backpacks.

"This is everything," Rick said. "Everything we need." He folded Denise's list and shoved it his back pocket.

They took more than what was on her list. These days it was better to have something you didn't need than to leave it behind and one day need it. As they were about to leave, she noticed they were near a store directory. She scanned the names of the stores and smiled.

"I need to make another stop," she said.

"For what?"

She walked down the sidewalk, the names of the stores on little wooden signs above the door. "Not medicine but we're already here." It was only five stores away from the apothecary. She wiped a circle on the dirty glass and looked inside. She knocked a few times and waited.

He looked at the store. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." It was a beauty supply store. Not too many people needed the products she did, so she was positive there was something of use in there, especially since the store was still secure. "I need to get a few things."

"Really? That's not important."

"Maybe not to you but it is for some of us. We're already here. It won't take long."

She broke the bottom half of the glass door, clearing all the glass before going in. She grabbed a red basket and went down the aisles when she noticed him standing guard just inside the door.

"This would go a lot faster if you'd help."

He stared at her for a moment and pushed himself off the door with a grunt. She gave him a cheesy toothy smile, but he shook his head and grabbed a basket.

* * *

After the shopping spree of oils, creams, treatments, and other stuff he vaguely remembered seeing in their bathroom back in Georgia, they gave themselves thirty minutes before they would trek back to the van. He noticed her hobbling and his feet were numb but an hour seemed too long and they lost a lot of time when they had to detour and walk and then they had to walk back which would take at least two hours. They sat in the back room of the store and with five minutes left in their respite the sky opened up and the rain poured down. Unfortunately, it gave her time to go back to the front of the store and make sure she didn't miss anything.

"We will need a grocery cart to haul back your hair products if we don't get going soon."

She laughed. "I see you're still corny."

"I see you're still laughing."

She always laughed at his jokes. And they were always corny. That's how he knew she liked him. The first five minutes of their first date and she was laughing for four of them; he wasn't that funny.

He placed stones in a circle and built a small fire and found a wire rack to place two cans on it. They might as well eat while they waited for the storm to let up. He hadn't planned for this extended stay but she did and he was thankful some things never changed with her — she always packed too much whether for an out-of-town trip or a few hours from home. Anytime they were out she could always find something in one of those big ass purses of hers. One time she had a mini stapler. It came it handy once but she still couldn't explain why she had it in her purse that day.

When she came back, he wrapped a cloth around the can of corn and placed it before her.

"My favorite," she said with a smile as she took it.

He knew that. He watched her as she smiled at that can of corn like she was eating a bowl of ice cream — her favorite was rum raisin.

She pointed her spoon at him. "It would be even better if it was—"

"Corn on the cob," they said in unison.

When they had a cookout, she was in charge of the corn on the cob. It was a production. Butter, garlic, grated Parmesan, and the salt had to be Kosher. In a bind, she'd make due with Sea Salt. Never regular salt.

Their connection was real not forced, and it showed in times like this when their minds went down the same path. He hated how they effortlessly bantered while they'd been in this store. He didn't want to hate her, but he wanted to keep her at a far distance. That's what he needed, it's what she deserved. She didn't get to just come back in his life and act like she didn't break his fucking heart.

"What do you have?" She looked across the fire at him.

"Black beans." He paused at a thought that entered his mind but he said it anyway. "It's not your mom's oxtail and rice but it'll do."

She laughed, and it died down to a chuckle and ended with a smile with a distant look on her face until her smile disappeared. "That's what we had at her repast."

He frowned. "What?"

"She died after… after I moved. Heart attack."

He loved her mother. She was on his side from the moment they met, despite him stealing her dream of watching her daughter say I do. She pulled him aside and told him she knew he was good for her daughter and when things got hard, when Michonne made them harder than they needed to be, to not give up on her. That he was just the man she needed. She never expounded on any of that. He called her once, in hopes she could give him some advice when Michonne was determined to leave but even she couldn't tell him what he could say and do to make her stay.

"I didn't know," he mumbled, nothing else to say. She knew because she didn't tell him. "I'm sorry. I always liked your mom." What you put in the world is what you get, that's what Hershel told him once. So he gave honesty; raw, vulnerable honesty. "I didn't throw our marriage away," he said. Since she said those words it gnawed at him. When he said his vows he took them seriously. Marriage was forever. So, no, he would never throw his marriage away.

"You didn't fight for it."

"That's not the same as throwing it away."

"Noted." She looked up at him. "Why didn't you fight for it, for us?"

He placed his can down. "If you wanted to leave, what could I have done to get you to stay?"

"Why couldn't you come with me?" He grunted. "Fine. I guess I'll never know that. But you could have said what you were feeling."

"I did."

"No. You told me you didn't want to leave. You didn't tell me what you felt about it all. You didn't tell me why."

"Did you really want to know? Did you even care? I imagine you chose what was most important to you."

"Stop it. Stop making me out to be some horrible person who didn't love you. Like it was easy for me to leave. I wish you would have told me you didn't really want to leave instead of pretending you were willing to leave once I found the right place. I wish you would have made your case for just staying."

"So you could leave anyway? I was caught up in a dream of what I thought we were. Of what I was supposed to be to you." Moment by moment, talk after talk, he could see her disappearing, falling back, running away. Love wasn't enough. Their love. _His_ love. It was like she was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

She shook her head. "It wasn't you and Carl. You know that, right?"

"Do I? What was it then?"

"I always had goals, Rick. When I talked about them, when _we_ talked about them I thought we were planning. When we talked about things you and Carl were there with me in every vision of the future. It wasn't just me saying it. You did too. Or weren't you serious?"

"You didn't know what you wanted. It was one place and then the next and the next. I didn't want that for Carl."

"I knew what I wanted. I wanted us all to be happy. That was always the deal, that it had to be something all three of us would like. Carl would have thrived no matter where we went. I would have made sure of that. I wouldn't pick a place I didn't think would be good for him. He would have loved South Pasadena. It's a small town in a big city. Rick, I didn't want to go from one place to another. But the deal was we all had to be happy. You didn't like one place, so I offered another, and another looking for what would make you happy too. I wasn't confused. I wasn't restless. I was being thoughtful. I was keeping my end of the deal."

"It felt like it wasn't about some opportunity of a lifetime dropping in your lap. It felt like you were actively trying to leave. And maybe it wasn't Georgia or King County."

She nodded. "I was willing, but I wasn't looking to leave. Not at first."

"Sometimes I thought maybe it wasn't the place, it was the person." He looked over at her. "Me."

Maybe it was bullshit in his head. Far removed from the times, maybe he let the insecurities his first wife imprinted on him affect his marriage with Michonne. He thought back to that time. After Los Angeles, New York, and Seattle, she said she finally found the perfect place — a small town in Virginia called Lorton. Rick even got hired onto the sheriff's department there. It was the kind of town he wanted to live and raise Carl. She searched for homes online and they picked out a house that was near the woods. It had a river behind the house. Then tragedy struck at home. They asked him to be the new sheriff of King County when Sheriff Clayton died in his sleep. At the wake, his widow said Sheriff Clayton saw Rick as the son he never had and he saw Rick taking his place one day. No one else in the town could run the place. They needed him. So he agreed to stay on until the election in a little over a year away. Michonne was pissed.

 _That wasn't the plan_ , she had said. _It's okay for me to not get what I want but that's not an option for you_ , she said to him. He told her she could find another legal job in Atlanta; that it was just a delay. _Rick, it's the Justice Department_ , she said.

He remembered that day like it was yesterday. It was permanently etched in his mind. The sound of pouring rain beating down on the roof and pelting the windows, the smell of chicken frying on the stove. He remembered everything because it wasn't every day you watched the woman you love walk out the door and you didn't know when she was coming back or if she was coming back. And when she did, it was obvious she had been crying. She rarely cried so when she did it was a brutal punch in the gut. He didn't know his marriage was over at the moment, but he knew it was forever changed.

Rick's mind snapped back to the present, and he looked over to see her staring intently at him.

He cleared his throat. "It wasn't just about not wanting to move to another city."

"Then what was it?"

He broke their eye contact, ashamed of the words about to come out of his mouth for a multitude of reasons. "How was I supposed to tell you I felt a certain way about taking Carl away from where his mother was buried and away from her family?"

"You tell me you felt a certain way about taking Carl away from where his mother was buried and away from her family."

He shook his head and let out a laugh. "Seems so simple now that it doesn't matter."

"Did I ever give you reason to think I would be insensitive about her?"

"You didn't ask me to make sense. I'm just telling you how I felt."

"Fair," she said. "If I'm being honest, she played a part in us not making it. Not because of your feelings. I blame myself. We didn't make it not because I wanted to leave King County but because I was too accommodating. I put myself in that position because I felt for you both. I knew you loved me but in a lot of ways we weren't our own thing."

"What does that mean?"

"I think the house was a perfect example. And then, maybe it became the thing I was running from. One of them anyway."

"What are you talking about?"

"Carl losing his mom then his dad finding someone else. That's a lot of change for a kid. That's a lot to deal with. And I wanted him to have as much stability as possible. So it made sense to stay in the only home he'd ever known. But it wasn't mine. Wasn't ours. Sometimes I felt like a guest," she said with the shake of her head. "And that's not all on you. Closed mouths don't get fed, right?"

She always seemed okay with living in the house. He even asked her how she felt about it and she made it clear it was okay. But maybe somewhere deep down he knew it wasn't okay; that's why he asked. It was a chicken-shit move to take advantage of her understanding. He bought a new bed and replaced some furniture and figured that made it okay because it wasn't like he was sleeping with her in the marital bed he shared with his first wife.

"Why didn't you say something?" He asked balling up pieces of paper and tossing them in the dwindling fire.

"Because all my life I was that hard ass who had to have things my way and putting other people's feelings first, particularly a man's, was something I never did. I could admit that about myself. And I wanted to stop being that way when I met you because from the moment I met you I knew I'd find no one else so amazing. And I went too far, thinking it would be easy to live there. I went into it thinking that hey, it's just four walls and a roof. But it was so much more than that and I didn't realize until I couldn't breathe."

He couldn't handle looking at her. "I'm sorry you felt that way. Since we're being more honest than we've ever been, I guess…"

"Say it."

"I didn't know myself outside of King County. I was Rick Grimes, Bill and Kathy's son, Jeff's brother, the kid who pulled Old Man Taylor out of his truck when he crashed and it caught on fire, the deputy sheriff. Going someplace where none of that mattered fucked with my head."

On the surface, they fought about moving but below the surface, deep down, they were drowning in so much of their own shit they couldn't see that the other was struggling too. And he was so fucking stubborn. They both were.

"Rick, you were the greatest love of my life," she whispered.

He stood up. "All that but you still walked away." He headed to the front of the store to create some space they both could use but he stopped for a moment. He didn't have it in him to turn around and look at her though. "For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you," he whispered.

* * *

The rain didn't seem like it was stopping anytime soon and they were both eager to make it back to Alexandria. They lost over two hours waiting out the violent storm and now that the rain was down to a steady drizzle and not an downpour they decided to go for it. They only needed to get back to the van. She was more than ready to go. They'd get wet, sure, but it would be less uncomfortable than this time with Rick.

That conversation was overdue. It was a shame they didn't have it back in Georgia. If they did, would it have made a difference? The truth is, people were rarely capable of being that vulnerable while in the midst of the storm. Both of them would have been too proud to talk about their own shit, instead focusing on the other. No matter what, it was progress. Maybe now she could walk around Alexandria without her stomach in a knot at the prospect of seeing Rick around whatever corner she was about to turn.

Instead of going the way they came, they headed out the back door. Once they crossed the pavement, there was a steep hill that led down into the woods and with his first step in the grass Rick went tumbling down.

"Rick," she screamed as she watched him fall about fifty feet before he could gather his bearings and grab hold of a tree. She removed the bag from her back and placed it on the ground. With her first step, she lost her footing, but she was prepared and caught herself by grabbing hold of a tree.

When she looked back down all she could see were biters pulling at him, dragging him down. She headed down.

"No," he screamed. "Stay there."

She watched him struggle. Fending off one biter only to deal with another.

"Rick, use your gun," she shouted. She understood he didn't want to attract attention, but this wasn't a single threat.

"Watch out behind you," he shouted.

She turned and dodged a biter mere inches from her with its mouth open ready to take a bite and pushed another then watched them tumble down the hill. After putting down two more biters she focused her attention on Rick. While one of the biters held on to his foot preventing him from creating any distance, another headed toward him. She couldn't stand there and watch him die because he refused help, so she pulled her sword and joined him, killing the biters still standing and chopping off the arms of the ones holding onto him. She offered her hand, and he took it then followed her back up the hill, placing his hand on her back when she slid back.

They stood and watched the biters attempt to come at them but they were stalled by the steep incline. It was almost a little funny to see them fall back and roll down the hill taking out the other biters like a bowling ball down knocking down pins. At the bottom there must have been over fifty of them now headed their way. There was a fence off to the right preventing them from simply taking a wider detour around the biters and back to the direction of the van.

"We can't go right through them," she said. "Too many."

"We have to go back the way we came," he said.

They went back inside the store and he slammed the door behind him.

"I thought you were dead," she said as she wrapped her arms around him. She closed her eyes and squeezed him tight against her needing to feel as much as him as she could. In this moment, feeling him this way for the first time since their marriage, he felt like the man she loved, not some stranger with a familiar face.

"I thought the same," he said as he pulled away. "I saw some T-shirts on the wall up front." He broke free and went back to the front of the store.

It didn't go unnoticed he didn't return the hug. He didn't immediately reject her either. Facing the back door, ready for the possibility of danger from the direction of the immediate threat, she peeled off her wet tank top.

"Were you bit?" he asked from behind her.

"No. I think it's from a branch." She reached behind her and gently touched it. Her fingers were stained with the blood from the fresh scratch on her lower back.

He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. His closeness, the silence, the thoughts screaming in her head all rendered her frozen. Thoughts she had no business having yet seemed inevitable flooded her head. He traced his finger across a different wound that had long since healed. Her once unblemished skin was full of scars. She shuddered at the feel of his hand on her bare back. A part she hadn't felt him touch in a long time.

"How'd this one happen?"

"Came across some bad guys. Nothing too tragic."

They tortured her and not for information just for entertainment, but she didn't want him to know that. Not to mention she felt too lucky to wallow in what happened to her. She was alive; she hadn't been raped. What's a gunshot wound and a few other cuts and bruises?

She turned and noticed his shirt was off. Gone was the lean body she fell in love with and before her was a body she loved even more. Like her own body, it contained scars from a rough life. His broad chest, the strong shoulders, she imagined those arms wrapped around her. She looked up expecting to be caught admiring his body, but he wasn't focused on her, instead his eyes were focused on her breasts barely contained in a bra that wasn't the best fit.

"What happened to you?" She reached out to touch the scar on his side.

"Shot."

"And here?" She ran her hand up to his chest, the sight of another wound.

"Knife."

They locked eyes. She was stuck in the moment, in a trance with the rise and fall of his chest against her hand. They seemed to acknowledge at the same time what they wanted. Their mouths crashed. He held her arms to her side and backed her against the wall, trapping her with his body. She moaned into his mouth at the feel of his hard body against hers.

It became a mad dash to rid themselves of just enough of their clothes. He spun her around and bent her over the desk. With her jeans pooled around her ankles, she spread her legs as far as she could. A maon escaped her mouth as he slid his dick up and down her opening. It was the best feeling she had in a long time and he hadn't even entered her yet. She'd deal with the emotional shit storm later. When he finally entered her she let out a yelp, not prepared for how it felt to have all of him inside her again. She was impatient and needy, barely feeling the emptiness of him sliding out before she rocked back against him. Her head fell back, and she deepened the arch in her back.

"Fuck," he grunted.

"Please, please," she whispered.

She stood up as much as she could and purred at the feel of his bare chest against her back. Flesh against flesh. His hand slid around her neck the other on her hip.

He asked her what she wanted but unlike the past she wasn't sure he much cared. It was out of habit. He was an aggressive lover and a giving lover. He struck a balance most men didn't know existed — taking what he wanted while giving what she needed. It sent cold shivers down her spine that he could pin her against a wall, or in this case a desk, and still maintain the most gentle voice and touch.

Their speed was rapid. They wouldn't last long like this but it was impossible to slow down. She lay flat against the edge of the desk hurting her pelvis each time Rick entered her, his hands now with a firm grip on her hips. She would feel every bit of this later — from the desk to his fingernails digging into her flesh, to him forcefully fucking her — and she would regret none of it.

"Shit," he said as he pulled out and she felt the warm ooze down her leg. He collapsed on top of her.

She was more than happy to feel the weight of him against her back. She missed it. He would always hurry to slide off of her after they had sex, not wanting to crush her, but she'd make him stay a little while. It always made her feel loved and safe when his body touched hers. They were both breathing hard. It hadn't lasted long enough for either to work up a sweat but it was intense and fast. It wasn't like the past, when they spent entire weekends fucking each other's brains out, not bothering to get dressed because it would only slow them down. And back then they lasted as long as they wanted.

She turned around slowly. His head hang down as he fought to catch his breath. Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever it is that's got a hold on you, I want to see you beat it," she said. "You wear it on your face, it weighs on your shoulders, it's in your voice. You deserve to see the world back to the way it was."

She thought back to the video of him talking to Deanna and what the others said about him. She wasn't sure she'd ever forget that version of him. It scared her. The look on his face, the ominous tone in his voice, the danger he made clear he was capable of.

"And stop blaming yourself for everything. It makes it easier for others to blame you."

He pulled away to bend over and grab one of the T-shirts he brought back from the front of the store. "We have to get going. It's a long trip back."

"Thanks." She let out an uncomfortable laugh. "This was unexpected."

He grunted.

"But nice," she whispered.

"Things don't just change because we got weak."

"Maybe not but can we leave the anger out here? Not take it back to Alexandria? It's exhausting Rick and not at all productive."

"Everything just go back like it was before?" He walked away without an answer.

Before was a strange concept. Before when? When she thought he was dead or alive hundreds of miles away in Georgia? Before he entered her life again? Because then she had the hope of the unknown. You could look at the unknown as scary but she saw it as a hopeful state. Possibility lived in the unknown because there was the absence of a definitive no. Or before this run? When she knew for sure it was over because when he looked at her with daggers in his eyes she saw hate. That's if he even bothered to look. Most times he avoided her. She entered a space, and he left it. Proximity to a love that doesn't want you was like a slow death. Love? It was love. She never stopped loving him. She missed him now more than ever.

* * *

The entire trip back felt twice as long as going and that was saying something since return trips usually felt shorter. He insisted on driving, needing the distraction and he prayed she didn't want to talk about that impromptu sex. He was an idiot for having sex with her. It would only complicate things. With those scars on her back and the thought of someone hurting her, he couldn't help but turning into the man who would always protect the people he loved. Then she turned and looked up at him with those big brown eyes. And the body didn't hurt. He had always been a sucker for her eyes and breasts.

By the time they returned to Alexandria the last rays of sunlight pierced the sky. He was still wet; he was sore — thanks to that slide down the hill his ass had a wicked burn — he was hungry, and he wanted to see Carl.

They climbed out of the van without saying anything to each other. He was thankful she wasn't interested in talking because what the hell would he say? Thanks for the sex? Or pretend it didn't happen and thank her for coming along? They unloaded the pills at the infirmary and she headed off with her hair products with nothing more than a nod. He took some of the pills out of the bag and placed them on a table while he waited for Denise to come downstairs so they could chat before he went up to visit with Carl when Jessie walked in.

"Looks like you found trouble out there."

"How did you know?" He was tired and all he wanted was to go check on Carl then take a hot shower. He still couldn't get over the idea that in this world hot showers were possible.

"That's not what you were wearing when you left," she said with a smile as she pointed at his shirt.

He looked down at the gray T-shirt with the silhouette of a woman's head with a large afro. He shook his head. "No. No, it wasn't. Chased by some walkers, fell down a hill."

"Wow." She looked on the table beside him full of pill bottles. "But it looks like you were successful."

"We'll see when Denise comes down. Hopefully, it's something we can use." He picked up a bottle and turned it in his hand.

She walked up to him, maybe a foot between them. "You've only been here a short time but you've already had such an impact on our lives. We're grateful." She grabbed his hand. "I'm grateful," she whispered.

She leaned in and attempted to kiss him but he turned his head to the side and looked down.

"You're a nice person Jessie," he said while staring at her shoes, anything to avoid eye contact. "But I can't. I'm sorry."

He walked off not waiting to give her a chance to change his mind, not bothering to give her an explanation.

"Rick," Denise called out. "I'm ready now."

"I'll be back later. I gotta go. Check out the medicine," he called out, not bothering to stop. Not bothering to look back.

He hated himself for thinking about Michonne at that moment another woman wanted to kiss him. Did he refuse Jessie out of some loyalty to an ex-wife who walked out on him? He wasn't sure if he could ever feel for anyone what he once felt for Michonne, and that included Michonne herself. He felt ruined. And he made things worse for himself by having sex with her. How was he supposed to be around her with a recent reminder of how fucking good it felt to be inside of her?


	9. This is Us

Michonne sat on a small stool on the steps of her townhouse taking in the surroundings of Alexandria and casually flipping through the copy of _Sophisticate's Black Hair_ she grabbed from the beauty supply store on her run with Rick. Rick. She couldn't read him and that was something she had once been good at; knowing what he was thinking. But now, she couldn't get a handle on what he was thinking or what he wanted. He acknowledged he played a hand in their failed marriage but it still felt like he blamed her. He initiated the sex, but he wanted distance after. Sure, he could have used her to scratch his itch, but that wasn't the case. She saw it in the way he stared in her eyes and whispered in her ear, kissed her neck. She hadn't seen him since they arrived back in Alexandria the day before. It felt like he was fighting himself, fighting to remain angry. They got things out in the open but it still felt incomplete. Things still felt unsaid because how could the demise of a love so amazing, so real get boiled down to a ten-minute conversation?

With the steady rain and fog, the community was creepy and still — like a ghost town. Surely it was part of the reason no one seemed to get up and come to life. These kinds of mornings were meant for lingering in bed with someone you loved, or at least liked enough to not want to be apart. Everyone was inside except for one other person. Sasha walked with a purpose meant to deter anyone from talking to her.

"Headed out for some target practice?" Michonne called out.

She stopped in front of the steps.

Michonne stood up. "Come in. I got a few things for you." She headed inside, kicking off her sandals in the corner and grabbing the box of hair supplies from her bedroom upstairs. When she returned Sasha was standing just inside the townhouse, the door slightly ajar. "Kick off your shoes and come over." She placed the products on the coffee table.

"Wow."

"Choose whatever you want."

Sasha looked over the bottles and jars. Oils, cremes, conditioners, shampoos, gels. On her face was a genuine smile. One of joy. Michonne knew Sasha was happy because she wasn't one to give false smiles.

"Where did you get all this?"

"Found a beauty supply store on our run."

"You know how hard it is trying to explain to people to be on the lookout for basic ass jojoba oil or anything comparable? Then I'm expected to give a lesson on hair care. You should have seen them when I had my hair down after I washed it. 'Sasha, I didn't know you had curly hair. You should wear it like that.' Beth, Maggie's sister, wanted to help me detangle by brushing straight through scalp to end like it was her horse's tail or a Barbie doll."

"Mrs. Nedermeyer asked me if I wash my locs."

"Them's fighting words." She shook her head in mild disgust but she laughed.

She didn't realize all she needed to do was mention hair care to get Sasha to talk about something other than her marriage.

"They had a great hairdryer you could sit under. Thought it'd be great for you but I couldn't carry it."

"Well, I'm game to go if you are."

"Okay."

Sasha opened a jar and inhaled. "In this new life it seems weird but keeping my hair healthy means something."

Michonne nodded. "I get it."

Part of the kids' curriculum included art, a few of the women tracked their weight, they still celebrated the holidays. All those things, including Sasha's love of her hair, were part of who they were. This was life now, this wasn't some temporary interruption. No need to stop loving the things you loved or being who you were.

Michonne turned on the radio and Prince's voice mewled through the speakers.

"I miss winter Saturdays," Sasha said. "Windows up, airing out the house as my mother called it, cleaning while watching my mom sing Anita Baker and Shalamar. And each time a Luther Vandross song came on my dad would come in the room and dance with my mom." She smiled, looking off in the distance. "My mom would pretend she didn't have time, but they'd dance. Every time. And she loved it."

"There is none of that music in any of these houses."

"I'm not the least bit surprised. Seems like a Barry Manilow, Norah Jones kind of neighborhood. What I really miss is go-go music."

Michonne hadn't been in the D.C. area long, but it was long enough to understand the importance of go-go music, even if it didn't have the same reach as its heyday in the 70s and 80s; the intensity of those who loved it was just as strong. "What do you know about go-go? I thought you were from Florida?"

"Navy brat actually. We settled in Ocala to be near my mom's family after my dad retired. He promised her; owed her after she followed him around the world for 25 years. But my dad is from D.C. Brought us up here all the time. Taught us about go-go, Ben's Chili Bowl, Georgia Brown's, Anacostia, the drummers at Malcolm X Park. It felt like my second home. I thought about moving up here if I could find a firm."

"Were you a lawyer?"

"No. An interior designer mostly for businesses — banks, hotels, spas, law firms. Did some homes. How about you?"

"Lawyer."

"Ah. Figured."

"Really?"

She nodded. "You like to talk. And convince people you're right."

She wasn't sure that was a compliment or not. Didn't much sound like one. Sounded like something Rick would accuse her of — he said she always wanted to be right even when she wasn't. She didn't. She mostly just wanted to him to understand where she was coming from, to respect that she didn't always agree with him. Near the end, it never felt like he was listening to what she was saying.

"Hey," Sasha said as she pointed at the clock. "It's 11:11."

"You're into numerology?"

"A little. It was my mother's thing though." She smiled. "Along with astrology and a bunch of other stuff."

"My mother was into numerology too." Michonne walked to the kitchen. "I can use tea. Want some?"

"Sure." Sasha sat at the counter and watched Michonne. "So is this what this placed looked like before you moved in or is this your style?"

"You're the interior designer. You tell me."

"Okay." Sasha smiled. She stood and walked to the center of the room. "It's nice. I think the candles are you and the earth tones. But most of this is country chic. You're more modern and sleek. Fewer, more elegant statement pieces."

"I don't know if that's your interior design talent or more like a horoscope."

"It's about the same." Sasha laughed. "Interior design is just giving people what they want. Be observant. I had a client who always doodled on every piece of paper in an arm's length of her. I covered one of her home office walls with chalkboard wallpaper and she thought I was a genius." She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I heard you and Rick got into a little trouble when you were out there."

"Did Rick say something?"

Sasha let out a small laugh. "Do you know your husband?"

Michonne rolled her eyes and smiled. She did. She knew him well. And she also felt like she didn't. Not anymore. Everything between them was so ambiguous and it was driving her crazy, making her think she was imagining things… feelings, interest.

"Some women around here were talking about how Rick saved the day by bringing back the medicine."

 _Rick_ saved the day. She had been around these women for a long time and it was clear what she brought to the table as far contributing to the community. But Rick, the stranger they didn't like days ago, saved the day. Carrying a dead biter across his shoulder and a little blood splattered on him changed their view, apparently. Maybe it was a pheromone thing. She relayed the story of their run, from the detour to the close call with the biters, leaving out the sex and deep conversation. Even if it was just shooting the shit, she learned it felt good to talk about what happened out there. Keeping it inside like it was secret made it feel ten times worse sometimes.

"You said when you guys got in trouble it came out of nowhere. Like it was a blur, but it's never been that way for me. Never been that lucky. I remember every vivid detail of anything bad that happens. It's a curse." She closed her eyes. "I can still hear the loud crunch of my cat's bones when a car ran over her. I was fourteen years old. I see images of death. My brother's face when we buried him, Bob's last breath."

"Were you and your brother close?"

She smiled, staring off into the distance. "Tyreese was my North star; the compass that always led me back to my center. Back to what our parents instilled in us."

"Sounds like a great guy."

"He was. We were nothing alike. He was calm, even-tempered. Never let emotions get in the way. Except…"

"Except what?"

Sasha looked over at Michonne. "When he lost Karen. She was special to him. She died back at the prison. He seemed to change after that then he found himself again. On his own."

"Is that what you're doing? Finding your way on your own?"

"I don't really know if I was trying to find my way, to be honest. But if I were, you weren't going to let me do it on my own."

Michonne knew she was maybe too pushy. Definitely overstepping the boundaries with someone she didn't have a relationship with but Sasha was hurting and it didn't seem like anyone was paying much attention besides Walt, Deanna, and her. Maybe that made sense. Maybe Sasha's group was too damaged and still too skeptical of Alexandria to realize this was a safe place to deal with their demons. Maybe they saw her bounce back so many times they thought this time would be no different. That happened to her. Left to deal with the trauma. Meanwhile, one of the other Alexandria women heard a biter on the other side of the wall and people were bringing her meals and checking on her like she buried a husband or child.

"Sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Michonne said.

"It's okay. My dad said you dominate life when you get comfortable with being uncomfortable. Besides, I may have crossed a line or two with you." She looked pointedly at Michonne.

"I've never talked much about my marriage. Not even before the world ended."

"Was the end of your marriage a bad thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"My mom told me sunsets are proof that not every ending is a sad occasion, that the end can be beautiful."

"I guess it depends on what's ending. My marriage ending was not something I wanted. It was bad. Still is."

"How long were you divorced before the world changed?"

"We were separated for maybe six months."

"Imagine divorcing someone just before the world went to shit. Was whatever that caused the problem really that big of a deal breaker?"

"Actually, the world ending showed just how irrelevant it all was," she muttered to herself. She should have stayed in Georgia and kept her family together. Fought for her marriage. But she thought, when she left, she was fighting for her life. To be something, someone other than Rick Grimes's new wife. She felt ashamed the world had to end to show her what she now knew — that they needed to be together and they'd find a way to work it out. "I'm not even sure he's my ex-husband."

"What?"

Michonne nodded.

"Was does that even mean?"

"I wore my ring after I moved to D.C. Told people my husband was finishing out his term as sheriff back in Georgia and then he'd join me. That was always what I hoped; that we'd figure it out by then. But then he sent me the divorce papers." She remembered opening the envelope. She was crushed. "I eventually signed them after months of ignoring them and him ignoring me. I mailed them off a week before everything collapsed."

"Wait a minute," Sasha said. "So there's a chance your divorce papers are sitting on a desk somewhere waiting to be processed or in a post office. You may be married still."

Michonne could only laugh at the idea. All that fighting. All that pain. Moving away. And for what? To still be married. She knew Rick was her greatest love, the last man she could ever love. And not their stubbornness, 600 miles apart or the end of the world could keep them apart. The whistle of the teapot jolted her out of her thoughts. When she looked up, Sasha was watching her.

"So what happened? If you don't mind me asking."

Michonne grabbed the kettle and poured the boiling water over the tea bags in the two cups. "Everything. Nothing. My entire life I always planned things. My accomplishments were on a mental checklist. Own my first home by 26. Make partner by 35." She shrugged. "There were all these bullshit achievements I believed had to happen in order to not be a failure. I found myself underneath this unbreakable glass ceiling and saw my career stalling. I needed a change."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"The problem was that marriage was never something I planned on. When I fell in love with Rick, I didn't adjust that list. That was a huge mistake. Everything went well until it didn't. We communicated well until we didn't. It worked until it seemed to not. Like it went from perfect to destroyed."

They remained in silence until there was a knock on the door. Michonne took a deep breath as she went to answer it. Deep admissions about her marriage two days in a row felt burdensome, but she also felt a weight lifting from her whenever she admitted something new. She opened the door.

"I grabbed your rations box," Waltman said.

"Thanks. Come on in."

She followed him to the kitchen. "Waltman, this is Sasha. Sasha, Waltman."

"Waltman?" Sasha asked.

He placed the box on the counter and extended his hand to Sasha. "Charles," he said. "Just used to being called Waltman or Walt. Army thing."

"Understood. My dad was in the Navy."

"Nice."

"So, this box," Michonne said. "I hope you got things I like."

Waltman reluctantly broke his focus on Sasha. "I tried to get a box before everyone picked all the good stuff."

"Thanks." She removed the items from the box. "Furikake? What the heck is this?"

Sasha's eyes widened. "What? Let me see." She inspected the bottle. "This looks authentic."

"You know what that is?" She asked.

"Yeah. It's a seasoning. It's Japanese. I love it. You can put it on fish, rice, homemade fries. It's great on salmon."

"You cook?" Waltman asked.

"Japanese food?" Michonne asked.

"I love to cook. I was born in Japan. My dad loved the food while we were stationed there and I learned to cook it from him. It developed into all kinds of food. Thai, Chinese, Indian. You haven't lived until you've had wings in gochujang sauce."

"Well, why don't you cook something," Waltman said. "You can do it here tonight. Michonne and I will provide the food and the cleanup."

Michonne wasn't sure how she got roped into being the help but she liked to eat so it was a fair enough trade off especially if Sasha could cook as well as she seemed to suggest.

Sasha looked at Michonne and got a nod. "Okay."

* * *

That morning, like so many mornings, he woke up thinking about Michonne. Their time outside the gates ran through his mind on repeat and he felt it may have completely changed the trajectory of their relationship going forward. There was something about seeing her out there, quick on her feet, strong and fearless, that took him back to how captivated he was when they first met. How she was more than he ever thought he'd find in a woman. Then he slept with her after they almost died. He couldn't get the images of her body out of his head. It made him think of countless memories.

When they had sex, the chemistry was off the charts. With sex, they said everything they couldn't with words. And it scared the hell out of him what his body said that day they had sex on the run. It said the things he'd been thinking but couldn't admit from the moment he saw her in Alexandria. That she still had a hold on him. That his feelings for her were uncontrollable.

Their talks were good and when they didn't speak it was even better. Sometimes they felt their most honest when he was inside of her. Like their first time, it happened after they admitted they thought about each other all the time. He wasn't sure she truly understood just what that meant for him. Admittedly, it wasn't the most romantic, but it seemed in line with their relationship and who they were; it felt right. They went for long drives away from the city. That time they ended up near farm country in McDonough. With a few blankets and pillows, they sat in the bed of his pickup truck drinking a couple of beers under the stars. They locked eyes, and they both knew what they wanted. They had that truck rocking. Bodies drenched in sweat from never-ending fucking and humidity. The shivers brought on by pleasure and a cool breeze on their damp skin. There was no one around for miles and all he wanted was to make her scream and she wanted to make him fall apart.

There was never a stumbling intimate moment between them. No awkward kiss, no unsatisfying sex. They did everything to and for each other. It was the best connection he ever had. Best sex, best kisses, best blowjob, best everything he'd ever done. It was like a competition in which they tried to out please the other; it was a win-win situation. Whether slow or fast, they were always intense and in sync. Scarily so.

It was scary she was on his mind now. And when he wasn't thinking about Michonne, his stomach turned as he thought about the near kiss with Jessie. It was all a disaster. All Rick did was stop a man from beating his wife and kids. Nothing romantic about it. But there was Jessie offering herself to him. It wasn't the first time a woman thought she was in love with a man who saved her. It wasn't the first time it happened to him. Back in King County he was the first on the scene of an accident. All he did was hold the woman's hand, but she was convinced she loved him. After a few weeks, and a new love interest, the woman moved on. In this confined space with a finite number of men, he wasn't so sure it'd be so easy with Jessie. But since he rejected her, she'd probably go back to Pete. He hated that. That he might have pushed her back into the arms of the man who hurt her.

Aimlessly, he walked Alexandria until he found himself standing at Michonne's door. When she opened it she was wearing black yoga pants and a Washington Capitals jersey. For him, she was always at her best when she was casual. When she wasn't naked. That was the best. The flat stomach, the perfect ass, the curve of her hips, the soft flesh of her inner thighs.

"Rick?"

He looked up at her, embarrassed to be caught staring at her. "I, this is probably a bad time. I shouldn't have just showed up unannounced."

"That's the only way to show up these days. You're not interrupting me." She opened the door wider. "Come in."

Somehow her townhouse smelled like their home back in King County. There were four scents their home always seemed to smell like — fresh linen, lavender, cookies or pies, and a cedar and pine forest after a fresh rain. Today her place smelled like lavender. There was a small vase with wildflowers on the kitchen bar. They were a far cry from the lilies, daisies, roses, and sunflowers she always had in their living room and bedroom.

"Why did you leave?"

She stopped mid-stride. There was a hitch in her breath and her eyes darted away. She opened and closed her mouth a few times. It wasn't often he caught her off guard, at least in a way that resulted in discomfort. Usually, it was pleasure.

"We talked about this." There was a shakiness in her voice.

"I'm not asking the right question. Not why but how? How could you leave? I could never walk away from you. So I just want to know how you could do it so easy."

He thought it a fair question. They got to the root of why he didn't articulate what he was feeling when she wanted to leave. He admitted why he was afraid to leave. She admitted why she didn't want to stay, but why did she leave?

She frowned. "It wasn't easy. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"I feel like the talk we had on the run led us to this moment where I can ask."

"Our conversation provided answers but created more questions."

He followed her to the couch, opting to sit next to her, looking at her, waiting.

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling as if defeated. "I wasn't happy, and I didn't want to end up hating you if I chose to pretend I wasn't capable of big things to make you happy."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. "Wow. I didn't know I was forcing you to live some small life." Or maybe he knew. He wasn't into the summer trips to some small desert town in California or the impossible to get tickets for the latest Broadway musical. He preferred a picnic in the park making out with his wife under the dogwood trees. He was happy working hard to provide for his family and coming home to a beer on the couch in front of the television. Attending his son's baseball games. Sleeping in the same bed with the woman he loved. He thought they had a fulfilling life that just happened to be in a small town.

"It wasn't miserable," she mumbled, grabbing a pillow and placing it in her lap. Her fingers gripping the edges.

"But it was small." Part of him was offended that the life he provided, the life he loved, wasn't good enough but he would try to make this less personal. It was the only way he'd survive hearing the truth of why they didn't work. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did and then it felt like you didn't want to hear it so I stopped talking about it."

"What exactly wasn't I hearing?"

"I watched my mom sacrifice her career and future achievements for my father." She shook her head slowly. "She was brilliant. I don't think he realized it, acknowledged it, or thanked her. And she pretended that indifference didn't matter. Yet another sacrifice for him. Eventually their marriage died, along with my mother's spirit — the result of a thousand mosquito bites. Individually, each slight was bearable, but the sum was too much. At the end, they were roommates instead of a married couple. They even had separate bedrooms. My mom said it was because of my dad's snoring. But they didn't even sit in each other's presence. My father sat in his room all day and watched television. My mom sat in the living room and watched television."

"Did your mother tell you she felt this way?"

"No. She didn't have to."

"Maybe she was okay with the sacrifice. Maybe it made her happy."

She shook her head. "I don't believe in romanticizing the sacrifices women make for the sake of the greater good. The greater good always seems to be in the man's best interest. Why is it always the woman who does the sacrificing?"

"I'm sure it's not always the woman."

"It was that way for my parents." She turned her head and looked at him for the first time since they sat. "And for us."

Again, his first instinct was to fight what she said, to argue his point and deny culpability. When they disagreed, and he got his way he thought he won. But from her point of view, what he really did was beat her into submission, into silence about moving. She was right, but all the things she considered as sacrifices seemed best for all them — including her, or at least, that's what he thought. For instance, she loved her place but his home was closer to her office and it saved her almost thirty minutes on her commute.

"You never mentioned you felt that way, like what happened with your mom."

"I don't think I was thinking of that when everything was happening. Well, not that crystal clear and definitive. I knew I was feeling disappointed and let down. I felt like you didn't care. I didn't want to resent you if I didn't go for it."

He frowned. For the first time, he raised his voice. "So you left me for my sake? So I wouldn't be hated? Thanks for the favor."

"I didn't say that. You knew how much it meant to me, and Carl was on board. When you didn't move to Virginia after you said you would it's like you snatched the rug from underneath me. And I became scared that my life, that I once had full control of, no longer felt like my own. That's when I thought it wasn't about the move anymore. It was about you and me in this hierarchy in our marriage. And who's dreams were more important, valid."

"That feels unfair. I was always proud of you and your accomplishments. The articles, the cases you won, the speaking engagements, helping with an $80 million Medicaid fraud case, the awards—"

"Wait, what? The Medicaid thing was when I was at Justice."

"Like I said, I was proud." So he kept up with her. What she did. It wasn't easy but what else did he have to do after she left besides wallow and wonder how things went so wrong.

"Of course you were. I know that." She shook her head. "I was angry and I let that overtake everything else."

"We were always slow dancing in a burning room, huh?" Love wasn't enough. He never understood that until his marriage to Michonne crashed and burned. Maybe that made him lazy, thinking his love was enough. That everything should be understood and whatever problems they had would work out in the end because she should have known how much he loved her.

"Were we? Was it all destined to end while we pretended everything was okay?"

"Makes it sound like we were immature kids in our first relationship." Hell, he was far from a kid. He was on his second marriage with a son fast-approaching his teenage years. He should have been better at the love thing. Actually, he was good at love. He loved with all his heart; it was his head and mouth that got in the way. He seemed to suck at making marriages work. It was hard to admit that to himself but what he really needed to do was admit it to her. Because all this time he blamed her and he knew she felt guilty; he helped to make her feel that way.

"I don't know what we were. Maybe we weren't ready but what I know for sure," she said. "Is that I never, for one second, stopped loving you."

He couldn't handle it anymore. He wasn't angry. He was overwhelmed with feelings he wasn't sure how to process. And when that happened, when his emotions got the better of him, nothing good happened. He'd probably say something hurtful. "I have to go."

"I want us to be friends at least," she called out after him.

He didn't know how to do that. How to be nothing more than friends with her. Something had to give because he couldn't go on hating her. It was good for no one. Not Carl, not the community, and definitely not him.

* * *

Sasha rejected Waltman and Michonne's spiritless offer to assist in the kitchen. Apparently she had a thing about people in her kitchen; amateurs made more work than help. Waltman sat on the couch while Michonne sat at the counter and watched as Sasha placed the fish in the oven. Michonne never saw her look so at peace as she did while she was in the kitchen chopping onions. There was an ethereal glow to her. Sasha wiped her hands with a towel then grabbed her wineglass and leaned against the counter and stared at Michonne. She squinted her eyes and cocked her head to the side.

"What?"

"Sorry. I'm just trying to picture you and Rick." She shook her head. "Nope. Can't see it."

"Why?" She asked. It wasn't a new reaction to her being with Rick. Most of her friends and colleagues couldn't see her with a small-town sheriff's deputy who wore cowboy boots either. But she had a couple of girlfriends who thought it was great she married a white guy who didn't see himself in competition with her like her last two boyfriends before him. James thought there was no way she suffered more slights in the world than he did because in his mind, no one was more hated than the black man. Then there was Shelton. Every professional success she had intimidated Shelton as if it diminished his own career. He downplayed hers while highlighting his own.

"He's so serious."

"You only know him in this life." In their life back in Georgia he could impersonate any voice or accent he heard, his best was Tommy Lee Jones's famous speech in _The_ _Fugitive_ which he once performed in the middle of the living room in his boxers and cowboy boots. She was serious. Too serious. He was much needed levity.

Waltman joined them. "I can't see it because he was a white Georgia cop. I can see him giving black folks a hard time."

Michonne frowned. She was used to that opinion as well. "He wasn't like that."

"And not like that now," Sasha said. "But since he brings up race." She focused on Michonne. "That's the other part that makes it hard for me to imagine. I pictured Rick's wife as some petite former cheerleader Homecoming queen, Southern beauty pageant type. And Carl isn't biracial."

"Carl's mother was Rick's first wife. She passed away."

"You know I'm sure you've had your share of white boys," Waltman said as he pointed at Sasha. "You look like a white boy whisperer. Just the type they go crazy over."

Sasha laughed. Michonne was happy to have the focus off her marriage even if she had no clue what he was talking about.

"White boy whisperer?" Sasha laughed.

"I can see you and Josh walking hand in hand at the farmer's market making your artisan soaps out of lavender and Patchouli oil. Oohing over the fresh organic tomatoes you'll use to make your Caprese salad."

She shook her head, still laughing. "No."

He looked doubtful. "They never asked, and you never said yes?"

"I didn't say that. I've dabbled," she said. "But I think of white boys like I think of the snow. I'll play in it but I won't live there."

Michonne choked on her wine. Waltman patted her back as she gathered herself.

"What?" Michonne asked.

Sasha shrugged. "They always disappoint and it seems like the cuter they are the more they disappoint."

Michonne waved her now empty wine glass in Waltman's direction. "You ever…"

He shook his head. "No. Ma dukes let me know if she couldn't use my comb," he started the age old saying but didn't finish. "But whatever I may have felt about it before, now life is short and hard and you're a fool to not hold on to whatever or whoever makes you happy."

Sasha lifted her wineglass. "I hear that." She looked at Michonne. "Rick isn't perfect, but he's not bad."

"I know."

"So…" She made a face and looked at Michonne expectantly.

"It's complicated." She knew what Sasha was hinting at. The choice wasn't hers to make alone. Whatever Rick may feel about their past and the possibility of a future, she wasn't sure she was capable of reuniting. She failed at loving him the way he needed to be loved once, who was to say she wouldn't fail again. This Rick, even more than the man he used to be, wasn't interested in taking a back seat to anyone. She saw it more than once since he arrived in Alexandria. It was his way or no way.

"Hold that thought. Bathroom." Sasha disappeared down the hall.

There was a knock on the door.

Waltman was closest to the door. "I got it," he said.

She didn't receive many visitors. Waltman, Scott, and Heath were the only ones who dropped by for social visits, and even Heath and Scott didn't make it a habit. So she narrowed it down to two people and only one of them had that standard police knock. Nervous energy surged through her body from her head to her toes; she could feel it tingle down her arms and into her fingertips until they felt numb.

Michonne heard mumbling and then saw Waltman return with Rick trailing behind him.

"I didn't realize you were busy," Rick said. "Like I said, I can come back." He was stiff in his body and voice.

"You gotta join us for dinner," Waltman said. "It'll be ready soon."

Before Rick could decline, because Michonne knew he would decline, Waltman headed for the kitchen.

"I'll set another place at the table," Waltman said.

"I don't want to mess up your…"

Date. That's what he thought this was. Rick and Michonne's desirability by other men had a long and complicated history. Like any man, he loved that other men appreciated the woman on his arm but he also hated how it made him feel. Rick never expressed this to her, but she knew. She could see it in his eyes. She could see it now.

"If what Sasha cooked tastes halfway as good as it smells you don't want to miss it," Waltman called out.

"Sasha?" Rick asked.

"Yes?" Sasha emerged from the hall.

"Oh," he said then cleared his throat. "I didn't know you were here." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"I told Rick to stay for dinner." Waltman smiled.

"There's enough," Sasha said as she headed for the kitchen. She opened the oven. "You're right on time." She pulled the pan out of the oven and placed it on the stove examining her pièce de résistance. "Everyone have a seat. Dinner time."

Rick and Waltman sat opposite each other silently sizing each other up. Rick didn't like how close she and Waltman were and Waltman didn't like Rick very much. Respected him but didn't like him.

Michonne watched as Sasha plated the food — fish and rice on the plates and salads in separate small bowls. Michonne was impressed. Sasha prepared a meal she could see herself eating back in the old world.

Michonne smiled as Sasha insisted Rick sprinkle the furikake atop his rice. Rick was a red meat and potatoes man. Trying new foods was not in his wheelhouse. She never could get him to try sushi. It was like trying to get Carl to order something other than a hamburger and fries no matter the restaurant. He sprinkled the tiniest bit on his rice and everyone watched as he tried and admitted it wasn't so bad. In fact, he liked it.

"Sasha, I didn't know you were such a great cook," Rick said.

"I was always in the kitchen watching my parents cook. By the time I was twelve I made Thanksgiving dinner."

"Well, you still got it," Waltman said.

Sasha nodded. "Out there food was about surviving. Here you can enjoy it."

"You're welcome to cook anytime." Waltman smiled at her.

Michonne noticed the fleeting smile on Sasha's face. Sasha needed friends beyond her group. To Michonne, Sasha had an ineffable personality. In her past life, she was probably the center of attention, someone with a big contagious laugh. Warm and friendly. With everything she had been through, she deserved happiness as much as anyone.

Sasha turned to Waltman. "I heard you were in the Army. My dad was in the Navy."

"Never could get over being surrounded by water for miles and miles no matter where you look. Sounds weird, but it seems claustrophobic."

"I get that," Michonne said. "Even being in that wide open space there's nowhere to go."

"Exactly," he said.

"Did you have to deploy to Iraq or Afghanistan?" Sasha asked.

"No. Had friends who did, and they never came back the same. You hear about war and the horrible things you see but you don't truly understand. I had friends who talked about everything they experienced and some never talked about anything. I was grateful I didn't have to experience it." He poked at his fish with his fork. "You never think you'll be involved in anything so barbaric. But some things they described felt like what happened when the world changed."

"The violence and death?" Sasha asked.

"That but more. My unit was activated when things went bad. We didn't know why we were called up. In the beginning they made it seem like it was some virus like Ebola or something. We had no idea what was really going on. So anyway, we had to set up checkpoints and safe zones. Camps for people who lived in infected areas. Women would see the soldiers and think that was the safest place to be." He shook his head. "But it wasn't. One of the worst places for a woman to be was around a bunch of men who were encouraged to be violent."

The men Waltman talked about and the men she dealt with out there were thrilled the world fell apart. It was like this shitty world was made for them. No rules. No accountability. No punishment. They took what they wanted and destroyed what they didn't. Michonne saw how they behaved once there were no laws and societal norms. The absence of those norms caused people to change. People loved to say what they would do in any given situation. But what they would become no one, not even the person, knew until it happened.

"These times show us for who we really are," Rick said. "Sometimes people see their true selves for the first time when things are bad."

Michonne stared at Rick as he pushed grains of rice around his plate. Who was he when things were bad after she left? That's what he was talking about she was sure.

Waltman looked at the clock on the wall behind him. It was the third time in less than ten minutes he checked the time.

"Got some place to be?" Sasha asked.

"Scott finally got the copy of _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ from Brent," he said. "Going over to watch it with him and Heath. I'm not into westerns but apparently it's the greatest of all time." He rolled his eyes.

"No way," Rick said.

"No, it's not," Sasha said at the same time.

They looked at each other. "You like westerns?" Rick asked.

"Absolutely. I spent my childhood on the floor beside my dad's recliner watching westerns on Saturdays. My butt print is still there I'm sure. So I know for a fact the best western of all time is _High Noon_."

Rick groaned. "Wrong. _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Blondie was anything but good."

Michonne watched them go back and forth as they discovered something about each other even though they'd spent a lifetime together out there. They probably had more in common and she wondered just how much or little they interacted since they met. Michonne knew Rick was close to Daryl and Carol, but what was his relationship with the others like? They talked about being a family. Were they or did they respect each other's skills and ability to survive?

"He wasn't perfect, but he was good. Eastwood was great. It was my dad's favorite too."

"My dad's favorite western was _Buck and the Preacher_."

Rick frowned. "Never heard of it."

"Sidney Poitier, Harry Belafonte, and Ruby Dee."

Rick relaxed. So did Sasha. Michonne was happy to see them let their guards down just a little even if it was about their mutual appreciation for The Rolling Stones. Even the ice between Waltman and Rick seemed to melt a bit. They finished a bottle of Kentucky Straight Bourbon and continued talking about lighter topics like movies, music, food — things that didn't remind them of the darkness that surrounded them. Maybe civilization would get back to what it once was but none of them would be alive to see it. The past held a wealth of topics; the future, for them, was limited.

"So Rick," Sasha said. "You think you and Michonne will reconnect?"

"Wh- what?" Rick stuttered.

Michonne didn't think her response would have been much better had Sasha directed the question to her. She was caught off guard and she had the benefit of knowing Sasha knew about their marriage. Rick, on the other hand, was completely blindsided. She underestimated just how bold Sasha could be.

"Cards on the table, Walt and I know you and Michonne were married. We're the only ones and it's a secret for as long as you want it to be, though I don't know why you want it to be. Now that the world isn't what it once was, I was just wondering. But I guess I shouldn't have blurted it out like that. The way the world is, it makes people comfortable asking questions and all," she said as she looked over at Michonne with a small smile.

Michonne inserted herself into Sasha's life. Sasha was only returning the favor. But damn, she was only trying to help Sasha. She worked up the nerve to look at Rick who was staring at her. She didn't know if it was out of anger or confusion but it was definitely intense.

"I'll clear the table," Waltman said.

"Perfect." Sasha wiped her mouth with her napkin. "Hope everyone is ready for dessert." She pushed her chair back and stood up.

"Dessert?" Waltman asked.

Sasha leaned down and lowered her voice so only Michonne and Rick could hear her. "I think if there's a chance to have something good, why not go for it? That's what Bob would say," she said as she looked at Rick. "Besides, it's slim pickings these days." She joined Waltman in the kitchen.

Michonne heard dishes being placed in the sink and murmuring but she was focused on Rick who was still focused on her.

"You told them?" He asked, his voice low but not whispering.

"Yes. I was trying to… Sasha is in a dark place and I was trying to connect with her."

"And you thought telling her we were married was the way to do that?"

"Is that a problem for you? For people to know we were married?" She wasn't shouting it from the rooftops telling everyone. That would put too much focus on two people who rarely shared their feelings let alone the trials of their relationship with other people. "If I needed her to open up I had to do the same. A show of faith. Let's table this. If we must discuss two loyal, discreet people who we trust with our lives knowing we were once married let's do it when we're alone."

His lips were pinched so tight she couldn't see those perfect pink lips she loved to kiss. And that quick, her mind wandered to moments of pleasure his mouth gave her. Most recently, in the stockroom of that store while on their run.

Sasha came over with two small plates. "Coffee cake. Or the best version of it based on the ingredients on hand."

"Tastes good," Michonne said.

"I'm going to get going," Sasha said. "Thanks for dinner."

"No, thank you. You're not having dessert?" She frowned.

"No. Not that much of a sweets person. Besides, I nibbled after I made it."

Rick made an appreciative moan. "Know what I'm thinking about right now? Southern Sweets."

Michonne smiled. "I created two monsters when I introduced you and Carl to that place." She looked up at Sasha. "Bakery in Atlanta."

"We always had to get two desserts." He had a wistful smile.

Michonne nodded. "One of which had to be the Amaretto Butter Cake or Bourbon Bread Pudding."

"Sounds amazing," Sasha said.

"Taste even better," Rick said.

"Well, it's been nice people," Waltman said as he joined them. He extended his hand to Rick. "Nice to formally meet you."

"Same," Rick said.

"No dessert for you?" Michonne asked.

"Ate it already." He rubbed his stomach and smiled.

"Guess that means more for me," Rick said.

"Excuse you?" Michonne asked as Sasha and Waltman laughed.

"I meant us."

Michonne looked over at him. This man with the smile of a con man and the heart of a saint. She walked Sasha and Waltman out. When she closed the door, she turned to see Rick standing in the middle of the room watching her. Alone again.


	10. A Million Little Things

**Author's Note** : I never meant to take this long between chapters but I thank you for your patience and sticking with me. You guys don't know how much it means to me.

* * *

Alone again. Unlike the beginning of their relationship, this time it brought discomfort, and hers was palpable. She was unsure of what to say or what to do which always brought about amusing nervous tics like rolling her neck and shoulders or what she was doing at the moment, playing with her fingers.

"Do you want another piece of cake?" She asked.

And there was the changing of subject. He shook his head. "No. I'll take some for Carl if that's okay."

"Yeah. Good idea." She headed to the kitchen. "I know he'll be happy to leave the infirmary in the morning."

"No happier than Denise. He's driving her crazy." He followed her but stopped on the other side of the counter and watched her cut a few slices and place them in a container.

She chuckled. "Sounds like Carl when he's sick."

He watched as she turned on the faucet and waited for the water to get hot. She hated running the dishwasher for a few dishes but she hated leaving them overnight waiting for a full load so she washed by hand when there were only few things.

He thought back to when Carl caught the chicken pox from Nate Pike, his buddy down the street who was also responsible for Carl's lice when he used Carl's comb one day. Michonne never liked that kid from that day forward. She changed her schedule around so she could work from home to care for Carl. She didn't bitch about it. Just told him not to worry and handled it. They watched action movies, Carl introduced her to comic books, and ate whatever he wanted as long as dinner was healthy.

"Hey." She called out. "Where were you just now?"

"Thinking of when Carl had the chicken pox."

She laughed. "Good times."

"You spoiled him so bad he asked if he could get them again."

He joined her in the kitchen and grabbed a towel from the side of the sink. "I'll dry."

"Thanks."

This was something they never did together. Clean together. After the third time, he asked where something went they switched places. Rick doing the washing and Michonne drying and putting them away.

When they finished, he leaned back against the counter. "I didn't know Sasha could cook like that."

Michonne nodded. "She's a cool chick. Did you know she used to go whitewater rafting every year and skydiving? And she belonged to a gun and rifle club?"

"No, I didn't know that." There was so much he didn't know about Sasha and it embarrassed him that Michonne had known her for less than a month and knew more about her than he did. Sasha was one of his people. He depended on her but he didn't know her other than how she helped keep the group safe. He wanted to justify that and claim he was focused on survival but there was a lot of downtime at the prison. Honestly, he never felt shit from the old world mattered much unless it was a survival skill. As far as her shooting skills, he figured she learned to shoot by taking out walkers like Carol.

"I can see myself being friends with her back in the day."

"Maybe you guys can be friends here." He wasn't trying to create a hierarchy of pain because most people had seen bad shit but he couldn't imagine any of these people seeing more than his group. The Governor, cannibals, what happened at Grady Memorial. It was hard to connect with people when you felt they could never understand you or the choices you were forced to make. Since they stepped foot in this community, they felt judged. He knew some of them thought he was a monster. Michonne was different. She was out there before she found Alexandria and she mentioned a few things. Not everything she'd experienced. He wanted to know all she had been through but didn't know if he could handle it. One time she told him about a guy at her office getting a little too hands on so he looked him up and paid him a visit. That pissed her off more than the jerk which pissed Rick off. It was the first in a long line of fiery arguments and it was like they never recovered.

"So, um, why did you come over tonight?" She left the kitchen, glass in hand containing the last of her whiskey and sat on the couch.

It had been hours since he knocked on her door and at first he couldn't remember. Their last conversation threw him for a loop. She said a lot but what really shook him to the core was that she felt isolated in his house. His house? He cringed. He really was an ass about the house thing. How could he not see it? He always thought himself a good guy with blurred moral lines when the world changed but maybe he was an asshole before things got complicated.

"You said you wanted us to be friends." He sat next to her. "You think that's possible? I mean, I want it… for Carl. He still cares about you. It would be hard for him to see you every day and pretend. It's not fair to him."

"Do you want it for yourself, Rick? I think that's the wild card. I think Carl and I will be fine. It's us that's the problem. Do you want to be friends?"

"I'm not sure that's possible." He saw the disappointment on her face and he took no pleasure in hurting her. At least, not anymore. He looked down at his hands. "My whole world stopped without you."

"Rick."

He closed his eyes. "So fast you became embedded in every part of my life. You reminded me I wasn't just Carl's provider but his role model. Me as a man, as a sheriff's deputy. Everything. So everything seemed to fall apart when you left."

"Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry. I know you're sorry. It just doesn't change things. I don't that anything will make it better. When we were headed this way from Georgia, I couldn't admit it before but I thought about you. I wondered if you were still alive. If you still thought about me."

"Every day."

He looked doubtful.

"Stay here." She ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

What was the expectation here? What did he want from her? From yet another conversation? He wasn't sure anything could come of this latest talk. When she returned, she was in a T-shirt and boxers and carrying a shoe box. She placed it in her lap. "Sometimes, this was the only thing that kept me going out there. Especially when I was alone."

There were pictures and newspaper clippings. One of Carl in his baseball uniform and one of him when he received a citation for bravery. When she picked up a picture he saw a sliver of gold.

"Is, is this your wedding ring?"

"Yes."

He grabbed it. Held it in his hand. He remembered the day he slid it on her finger. He wouldn't call it a ceremony. It was them and Carl at the courthouse. His favorite judge — Judge Theodore — presided over the ceremony. The ceremony was first thing in the morning; afterward they dropped Carl off at school and went home and fucked each other's brains out.

"I hope you know how happy I was the day you put this on my finger." She touched the ring then placed her hand over his.

"I can't believe you kept this stuff." You don't really know your spouse until they leave. Not before the marriage, not during just when they leave. He had never known her to be sentimental but here she was with her wedding ring, newspaper clippings, old family photographs, and a token from the state fair.

"This was my life. What was once the happiest time in my life. I kept it in a Ziploc bag before I came here because I didn't want them to get ruined."

"I fucked up," he whispered.

She squeezed his hand. "We fucked up."

His first wife always wanted to talk. Didn't much matter what they said. She simply wanted to talk and talk and talk. It was never ending. With Michonne, he thought it was better. He was happy she didn't want to talk all the time. But when she did, it was deep as fuck, deeper than he'd ever done in his life and that was infinitely harder. In some ways being with Michonne was easy and in other ways it was the hardest he ever had to work for the love of a woman. He never thought he lived up to what she needed, what she wanted.

"I felt like I knew you but I didn't. Why not?"

She pulled back, but he grabbed hold of her hand, forcing her to remain close. She always wanted distance when she was uncomfortable.

"I don't want to talk about this," she said.

"Well, I do." He always capitulated for her. Not this time. Not in this life. He could no longer.

"I was always insecure about being with you. Everything I did." She pointed at her keepsakes.

"Why?"

"I knew you never dated anyone like me." She shrugged. "And we got married I wondered if maybe one day you'd wake up and the allure would wear off. The neighbors and your friends, they were polite enough, but I always waited on their real feelings to surface if I said something they didn't like."

"My friends weren't like that."

She looked at him and smirked. "That's a conversation for another day."

"What else?"

"I felt inadequate. I was always afraid that I would mess everything up. I felt like my heart was this small," she said, her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "And yours was ten times the size of mine and you still had love overflowing."

"Michonne."

"And obviously you felt that way because you thought you embarrassed me and that I didn't think you were good enough or something. So I didn't love you like you needed me to."

"That was my shit. That's not on you."

"Our marriage was about feeling. How we made each other feel and for a long time those feelings were good."

He nodded. "And when those feelings weren't so good we let them fester under the surface and they became more intense, worse than they needed to be." That's what happened to two of his friends. He should have known better. He was always telling them to make it work. Well, he learned it was easier said than done.

"I wish this is how we lived our lives when we were together," she said as she placed everything back in the shoe box. "Communicated like the world was about to end."

Rick took the box out of her hand and placed it on the coffee table. His mind, his doubts, the wall around his heart all took a back seat as his mouth crashed against hers. He could taste the bourbon on her mouth mixing with the sweet cake in his own. The kiss was intense, each grappling for control. His hands in her hair, her with his shirt in her grasp as she fell back and took him with her. He reached under her shirt, surprised to find that when she changed, she kept on her bra. She gasped when he squeezed her breast, then moaned when he ran his thumb over her satin-clad nipple. It didn't take long for it to harden. She hooked one of her legs around him and began to grind. It felt so good.

Out there he never thought about sex and he got used to not having it. It always seemed like he'd be the teacher having sex with a student if he crossed that line with anyone in their ever-changing group. But since going on that run with Michonne, he couldn't get it out of his mind. He was like an unexperienced teenager trying to get in her pants and get his dick wet.

As difficult as it was to stop — to get what he wanted, to feel what he wanted — he had to. He sat up and yanked her boxers and panties off and tossed them on the floor. He placed one of her feet on the floor and tossed the other leg across the back of the couch. There she was before him, his for the taking. He removed his shirt, lay between her legs, and used his fingers to spread her open. If he wasn't so fucking hard he'd laugh at the look on her face. She was even more eager than he was.

"Rick."

He licked his lips and held eye contact as he licked her. She held her breath with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. He had every intention of watching her reaction but soon pleasure overtook him and he closed his eyes and buried his face between her thighs. His excitement caused discomfort, and he'd have to come out of his jeans soon. When she gripped his hair and lifted her ass off the couch and screamed, he knew the time had come for more. She was wiggling out of her T-shirt when he stopped her.

"No. The right way this time." He nodded toward the stairs. He wanted a bed. He wanted to look down at her as he entered her. He wanted to play with her breasts while she rode him. Wanted their bodies against each other while he was inside of her. Her leg tossed over his shoulder.

He followed her to her bedroom, aided by two night lights along the way, and watched as she lit a few candles and placed them on the nightstands and the dresser in the corner. Their shadows bounced off the walls as they removed their clothes. Their eyes focused on each other. He always loved to watch her strip down.

"This isn't why I came," he said as he stepped out of his jeans.

"But it's why you stayed." She tossed her bra to the floor.

He forgot how amazing her body looked by the soft glow of candlelight. One night early in their relationship while Carl was away for the summer she must have had a hundred candles lit around his bedroom. She did a little striptease for him and gave him his first lap dance. They were so caught up, once he was inside her it was hard to pull out, they almost burned the house down. He tried to calculate how many strokes he could get in before they lost the house.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

"I was thinking about that night you lit all those candles and the wind blew the curtain into a flame."

"Put your memories on ice. You can have the real thing right now. Looks like you're ready."

They kept their eyes on each other as they climbed on the bed. She took the lead, straddling him as he fell onto his back. His hands grabbed her bare ass, and he squeezed. Her nipples brushed against his chest while her tongue swirled in his mouth. She reached between them and stroked him. He attempted to roll them over, but she stopped him.

"I got this," she moaned into his mouth. She took his hands and pinned them above his head against the bed.

This never got old. Her taking control, uninhibited, confident in what she wanted. As she kissed on his neck, she lost focus on her grip and he took the opportunity to reach between them and rub his dick up and down her opening. Before he could enter her she slid down his body, kissing and licking along the way, until she took his dick in her mouth. He never had the words to tell her how amazing she was at this; she always thought his praise was effusive. He gripped her hair, the same as she did to him downstairs, and tried not to be as aggressive as she was when it was his mouth doing all the work. As amazing as she still was — and for a moment he wondered if someone else received the pleasure since she left him — that's not how he wanted the moment to end. He pulled her up and rolled them over. He groaned at the feel of being inside her again. She placed her hands on his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Their moans, groans, and gasps entered each other's mouths as they kissed, their bodies rocking against each other, this time not fast, but slow and intentional.

* * *

Michonne woke up in a light sweat. She was hot. It had been a long time since she shared a bed with a man. Like her own, Rick's body seemed to run warmer than the average. When they slept in the same bed, it meant lowering the AC. The small clock on the nightstand read 12:15. The candles still flickered, and she took a moment to take him in while he slept. He always had such a peaceful look on his face. Often she'd watch him and his little quirks like the way his nose would sometimes twitch or the little sigh of contentment. It was like the purity of watching a baby sleep.

She eased out of the bed, careful not to disturb him. He had been out there going through hell, uninterrupted sleep didn't exist out there so disrupting his sleep was the last thing she wanted to do. She was just happy he felt comfortable enough, trusted her enough to fall asleep in her presence. She opened the window and stood before it naked enjoying the breeze then went to the bathroom taking a moment to stare at her reflection in the mirror and when she returned Rick was gathering his clothes.

"You're leaving?" She stood in the doorway.

"This was a mistake."

"Why?"

He diverted his eyes from naked body, but not before admiring her. "Being with you isn't a good idea."

"Once upon a time it was a good idea, right?" When he didn't answer she continued. "Why do you believe that?"

"This isn't an argument from the past. This is about now. I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what this is. I don't know how to be your friend and nothing else."

She walked over and stood before him and watched as he struggled not to take in her naked body. "You think you could fall in love with me again?"

"Who said I ever stopped?" His response was immediate.

"Then—"

"It's not that easy."

She pulled him back in bed. "Okay, what's the problem?"

"I don't know how to love you and still keep my distance."

"That's not how love works."

"I can't see you every day and not think about what we were to each other. Can you?"

"And I can't see you every day and be angry. What do you want? Let's start with that. That's easy."

"Sometimes easy questions have complicated answers. Answers you may not want to hear."

He stared at her for what seemed like a lifetime. Just stared in her eyes. Not saying anything. When she went to speak, because the silence was too much when it felt like an indictment on her, he pressed his finger against her lips. She never took his forgiveness or civility for granted. He made her work for it since he arrived, enough that it pissed her off a little but she always knew there was pain. What she didn't know about was his insecurities in their marriage.

"Peace," he finally said. "I want peace. I'm tired, Michonne."

She could hear it in his voice, see it on his face. She sympathized, but she knew Rick could never find peace because he would always take on another's problems and pain as his mission to fix. She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with her fingernails and watched as his eyes closed. She didn't want to stand in the way of the peace he wanted, that his sanity probably depended on. He would get no conflict from her unless she felt she needed to intercede for the sake of the community.

"Come on," she whispered. She flipped the pillows over to the cool side and fell back on the bed. His head was on her chest as she cradled him, rubbing his back and playing with his hair. It reminded her of those hard shifts when he saw something horrible like a child dying in a car accident. She would make him tea though he always wanted a stiff drink which she didn't think was smart while in a dark mood. She would join him for a hot shower, washing his hair and bathing him, taking care of him like he was the surviving spouse or devastated parent. Then she'd hold him in bed until he would finally fall asleep.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I want my family back." She said it before she could think and it was the truth, even if she wasn't sure if she could love him now that he had suffered more pain and loss.

"Wow."

She chuckled. "Go big or go home, right?"

"Such a Michonne answer. It's like when you pretend to find the genie and you can have any wish and most people say to be rich or beautiful or famous. You're the one that says world peace."

They laughed. She loved how their laughter mixed like a perfect harmony. Sometimes she truly felt they were meant to be.

"You know, Sasha said something. That it's possible we're still married." When he said nothing she lifted his head and made him look at her. "That doesn't surprise you?"

"No. Two days before the world lost its mind my lawyer said he hadn't received the papers back. I thought you were playing an angle, saying you sent them but hadn't. So yeah, it makes sense. I guess we're still married."

"Those papers," she said with a sigh. "They were like a punch in the gut. I didn't see it coming. There I was still hoping you'd want to come up after they found a new sheriff and we could get back to being what we used to be, then I get those papers." When she said it aloud it was crazy. How could they pick up where they left off? There was no way to forget all the horrible things they said to each other and the horrible ways they made each other feel.

She had just stopped herself from crying every day. She cried in the shower in the morning. Then she held it in all day while at the office until she made it to her car. On her commute home she'd cry again. After some time she finally put herself back together to venture out and explore her new surroundings. And with one envelope her world crumbled again, and she was back to never leaving her home unless it was necessary.

"I should have warned you. I'm sorry."

"It was like you gave up on me. On us. I know this sounds crazy since I was the one who moved but I never wanted a divorce."

"I was angry. The way I saw it, you deserted Carl and me for greener pastures. A big life in a big city."

"I'm sorry."

"I know it's more complicated than that and that it was hard for you." He sat up and swung his feet around and onto the floor. His head hung down in his hands. "I don't know what we're doing right now. What are we doing? Pretending we're what we used to be? Pretending everything is okay? This, having sex, the cuddling, reminiscing about the good times, just makes it more difficult. Neither one of us should get comfortable with this. Maybe we were never as good together as we thought. How, with all the feelings and things between us we never knew?"

"That's not true." She shook her head. "I think we just got too comfortable too soon," she said. "We felt like we knew each other with the way we connected."

In fairness, they did know a lot about each other. They knew how they felt about a lot of things. Trouble was, they knew the good things, what made them happy and what made most people upset. But those Rick-specific and Michonne-specific non-negotiables… not quite. It was the feelings. They loved passionately, and they fought passionately.

"I think our marriage aged in dog years but we still had some growing to do before getting to where we didn't need to talk, because we still had so much to learn."

"Agreed."

"Maybe if we had done more talking than other things we would have saved each other a lot of pain."

She resisted the urge to ask him what he meant because if it meant what she thought it did — that they shouldn't have married — it would hurt too much. And it was something she didn't think she could unpack and understand, not tonight. Tonight she was vulnerable. Tonight she wanted to feel what she once felt with him. Even if it was temporary.

"I loved those other things," she whispered.

He didn't say it but she knew he did too. She crawled behind him, placing kisses on his back. "Don't leave. Not right now. It'll be morning soon. Let's finish out tonight together." She wrapped her arms around him, loving the feel of her hands against his bare chest. "Leaving now instead of in a few hours won't change what happened here tonight. You're tired. Let's sleep."

He stood, and she felt empty and cold when he left her arms. He looked at her and she felt dispirited and exposed, and not because she was still naked. He saw her naked body countless times, and she always enjoyed the look on his face when he did, but somehow, at this moment her nakedness felt judged instead of admired. She hated how insecure she felt when he was upset with her now that she knew just how much she hurt him.

He climbed in bed and covered her body with his. His weight always made her feel safe and loved. She spread her legs so he could sink down against her; the closer the better. In his eyes, she looked for an answer but she didn't see it. Maybe it would be visible with the clarity of daylight and clothes.

* * *

"I meant to tell you a long time ago you need a new pair of boots."

Rick attempted to laugh, but it was more like a grunt. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge her but didn't make eye contact as he sat on the edge of the bed shoving his feet into his boots. "Next time I'm at the mall I'll grab a pair," he said. There was more grunting as he shoved his feet in his boots. These days everyth8ing took more effort than it used to. His boots had a lot of miles on them and were so worn down he could feel the heat of the asphalt through them. He could probably find what he needed in Alexandria to resole them. It was a skill his grandfather taught him; he was certain he'd never need to use. He remembered that conversation like it was yesterday, telling his grandfather it was pointless because he could just buy a new pair. _And what would you do if you couldn't buy a pair_ , his grandfather asked. The older generation, people like his grandfather, like Herschel, had the skills, wisdom, and the moral compass to survive this world. Too bad strong bodies were wasted on the young and destructive.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. Reminds me of back home, you heading out for your shift before the sun came up."

She would make coffee and keep him company as he got ready for his shift. It was nice. He never imagined the two people who shared their first cup of coffee of the day together and went over their schedules to make sure they were on the same page would go from that to a failed marriage. And not just a failed marriage, but one that crashed and burn into something so toxic he imagined hazmat suits were needed to clean up the remains. Those early days she kept talking about were nice, but she had to stop doing that. Thinking about the good times like that was all there was to their story.

He looked around. "Where's my shirt?"

"You took it off downstairs," she said with a yawn. "I've got the chills. I forgot to close the window last night."

He hadn't noticed the temperature. They worked up a sweat then drifted off to sleep. He shut the window and drew the curtains. "Well, um, I'll see you around."

She was lying on her back, hair splayed all around her head and the sheet covering one half of her body. A single toned leg was outside the sheet and one of her breasts was exposed, the nipple hard. The frustrating part of it all was she wasn't trying to be desirable. She was lying there but tempting him all the same. She had always been that way whether half asleep, drenched in sweat after a run, or angry.

She extended her arm and reached for him. When he was close enough, she grabbed his arm, and he allowed her to pull him down for a kiss on the lips he quickly ended by standing up. She had said it didn't matter if he stayed a few more hours. He feared she was wrong. This little bubble they had been in for the last twelve hours would burst and when it did, what would be the outcome? He cleared his throat. "Bye."

Once downstairs he grabbed his shirt from the floor and finished getting dressed, buttoning his shirt as the stared at the couch, replaying what happened on it the night before. On that run, last night on the couch, her taking control, him taking control, her giving, him giving, in the bed, on the floor, against the wall — that was never a problem. He heard footsteps upstairs and headed for the door.

The sun barely pierced the sky when he left Michonne's place. He didn't mean to spend the night but after the sex it felt good to hold her in his arms, to feel her hands roam his body, to feel the soft kisses she peppered his skin with from head to toe. Then after their midnight talk he initiated the sex so he wouldn't have to talk about his feelings anymore. Because those feelings — he wasn't sure if they were real, a result of the sex, or a combination of both.

It just made things messy, having sex when their issues felt so unresolved. He couldn't pretend there wasn't still pain. Anytime he saw her, the first moment started as a flutter in his stomach then rose to a sharp ache in his chest and then like bile in his throat. He didn't even know what resolved would look like. Did they go back to being husband and wife or separated but friendly? They were still dealing with the past; it was too soon to know what he wanted for the future. He closed the door behind him but before he could release the doorknob he heard a voice.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

As if his head wasn't already filled with doubt and frustration. He wasn't sure why it so often felt like he was between a rock and a hard place with Carol and Michonne. His hung head hung and sighed before quickly descending the stairs of Michonne's brownstone so Carol would keep her voice down. Despite his indifference to her opinion at the moment, he asked anyway. "What?"

"Spending _time_ with her," she said as she nodded her head toward Michonne's door.

He ignored her tone. The way she said spending time when she really meant fucking. "I told you before, there's nothing to worry about."

"She's not who you think she is."

Rick laughed. Here she was telling him he didn't know his wife. He was tempted to tell her the truth about Michonne just to see the look on her face. "She's exactly who I know her to be. She's just not what you think her to be."

"And what's that?"

"Clueless." Rick walked to lead her away from Michonne's place. "She's not a bad person for seeing through your act. You were pretending, and she figured it out. Don't hold it against her for being smart. Let it go."

He found it funny, Carol commenting on someone not being what they seemed as she stood there in one of those sweater sets and khaki pants like a new-age Joan Cleaver with a Ruger in the small of her back. He'd seen her go through so many changes. Caterpillars turned into butterflies but a human being's metamorphosis was different, the change not so linear. It was up and down, zigzag, regression after progression. The woman he met outside Atlanta differed from the woman who arrived at the prison who differed from the woman he kicked out of the prison. And now? He wasn't sure who she was. Sometimes, when she was deep into her lie, he wondered if she knew who she was pretending to be and who she was hiding. But he didn't fault her for it. Everyone was trying to find their way in a world where societal norms no longer existed. They all had their share of missteps that saw them cross lines they never knew existed. He killed many people, and he knew why he did it — to protect his family. Whether he agreed, that's all she was doing.

"These people are—"

"Some of them are clueless." He could admit. "Some of them are unprepared. Some of them walk around thinking the world is like it once was." He knew most of these people thought the only danger the world presented was the walkers. They never ran across the real evil out there.

"Exactly. They're dangerous."

"Their unpreparedness is. Not them. There is a difference."

She placed her hand on his arm, pulling just slightly, and they both stopped. "She really got to you. Only took one night. Impressive." She smoothed the front of her sweater. "I thought you cared about Jessie. There was something there between the two of you."

"I saw someone who needed help."

"And she still does. Pete won't stop just because they aren't living together. You know that."

"Why don't you pay him a visit?" He leaned in a little, cocked his head to the side and studied her. "What's this about? Me being the one to put Pete down? Because you can do that. Why drag me into it?"

"I bake casseroles, Rick."

"And you were in charge of story time but you still managed to kill Karen and David."

He stunned her and even she couldn't pretend otherwise. He held his head down, this time out of embarrassment. Carol regretted what she did back at the prison and he threw it in her face. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "I know you're looking out for us. I'm okay. I know what I'm doing. I have to go; Carl's leaving the infirmary today. I have to get ready."

He headed back to the house. He risked getting them kicked out. He was sleeping with his ex. He set in motion this plan to take over the community that Carol seemed determined to see through to the end. He told Carol he knew what he was doing, but that wasn't true at all.


	11. Forged in Fire

**AN** : I'm so sorry. I never meant to take this long. I just have so much going on right now. blueprintofyourpast - yes, every chapter was meant to be named after a TV show. Just a little something my goofy brain thought would be cute. Thank you for your patience and support.

* * *

Denise said Carl could leave the infirmary first thing in the morning. What did first thing in the morning mean to her? She was more squared away than others but most of these people seemed to believe time was arbitrary. It didn't take long for them to leave behind the life of discipline, structure, and immediacy this new world required and slide into a lethargic existence. He had no plans of waiting around too long. Truth was, even though Carl was a horrible patient, Rick was probably more eager to have Carl home than Carl himself. He didn't do well when his boy wasn't by his side, in his line of sight. He could still feel the pain in his chest when Carl ran off while they were in the grocery store when he was three years old. Those forty-five seconds felt like a painful eternity.

There were two keys to the house; he had one and Carl had the other. Daryl managed without one. Soon, Rick figured they'd be like the Alexandrians — leaving their doors unlocked — but this morning he used his copy to unlock the front house. He was on his way upstairs to take a hot shower, his boot hit the first step of the staircase when he heard the voice.

"You missed curfew."

He looked over to his left and saw the back of Carl's head. "Carl? What are you doing here? Denise let you leave on your own?" He walked over to the couch. Carl was still in his pajamas. "Anything could have happened to you." He felt the rage rising from his core. Just days ago he could barely stand and she was leaving him unsupervised. No wonder Pete wanted nothing to do with her when he was running the infirmary. But now Pete was being an asshole and refusing to provide care because they separated him from his family, they had no choice but to let Denise run things.

"No." He looked Rick up and down. "I left last night after her last check before bed. Everything was fine, so I didn't see the need to stay another night. Thought I'd come home and surprise you but you weren't here. Glenn and Maggie didn't know where you were. Neither did Daryl. Where were you? Did something happen?"

He respected the man his son had become too much to lie to him even if he hated to admit the truth. In this moment, Rick felt like the kid. He felt a little nervous and beyond embarrassed. He looked around the room rubbing the back of his neck.

"Dad?"

Carl sat there expectant, almost impatient. He felt himself wither under the intensity of his own son's stare. "Michonne's."

He frowned. "You spent the night at Michonne's?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you have questions. I'm gonna get a shower first."

"Is there protection in the new world?"

He barely got around to the birds and bees talk with Carl and then the world changed. By then he thought it more important to teach him how to shoot a gun and protect himself, how to move through the world inconspicuous yet bold, how to navigate the fine line of humane but savage. But no matter what the world was, sex was something that would never go away and that talk was necessary now because of his own actions, not Carl's. He sighed. "Shower then talk."

He would have told Carl to make him a drink, but he wasn't sure if he needed coffee or a whiskey. As he stripped out of his clothes, he could still smell his night with her. The scent of her mixed with his own, the strong scent of frantic, needy sex. She had always been intoxicating causing him to be perpetually love drunk even when shit went sideways. He stood in the shower, his hands on the tiled wall and his head hanging down with the hot water beating down on him, bringing him to life with every prickle on his skin. He was lost in an emotional wasteland. He didn't know how he felt, how he should feel, or if he'd ever feel anything real again. Could he trust whatever he felt? It felt right being with Michonne last night but the entire time part of him felt a panic just underneath the surface as he waited for the ticking time bomb to explode. Love always exploded leaving the heart obliterated into confetti. Maybe last night wasn't about feeling right, it just felt good.

He brushed his teeth, dressed in a gray T-shirt and dark blue jeans then headed downstairs. During his time in the shower Carl got dressed down to his boots and cooked breakfast.

"Thought you were never coming out," Carl said as he placed two plates both with eggs, toast, and fruit on the table.

"Still not over the wonder of hot showers."

"I thought you were avoiding talking about last night."

Maybe there was that. Instead of sitting across the table from Carl where his plate was, Rick grabbed the chair next to Carl and slid it out the from table, not bothering to pick it up with the sound of the chair sliding across the floor. He sat down and they stared at each other for a while before Rick broke the silence. He supposed it fitting he started since he was the one that needed to speak and Carl was the one that needed answers.

"I stopped by to talk to Michonne but she had Sasha and someone over for dinner. They invited me to join them." He paused for a moment. "After, I stayed back so we could talk."

"And?" Carl asked.

"And we had sex."

Carl shook his head. "I figured that. What does that mean? Are you back together?"

"No."

"Why not? Do you want to be?" He leaned forward with his arms on the table and became more anxious. "Does she want to be?"

"Carl," he said exasperated because he'd already asked himself these questions and he didn't have answers. It was one thing to not have the answers for yourself, but to not be able to give your kid the answers to his questions felt like a failure. "It's complicated."

"Is it?"

"What does that mean?"

"Either you want to be with her or you don't. Either she wants to be with you or she doesn't."

"But it's never that simple. There's a lot between the wanting and being stages. The hard work to make it possible, that makes it complicated. Makes it hard."

"So you're confused about the two of you but you still had sex? Doesn't seem like a smart move."

He was stunned into silence. Not the first time his kid knocked him on his ass with his willingness to say exactly what was on his mind but this was by far the coldest. A sex talk with your kid was nothing but an exercise in hypocrisy. All the things you want to tell your kids are the things you didn't do. Wait until marriage. Make sure you love the person. Always use protection. Be honest with the other person.

"No matter what happens between me and Michonne it will not be like it was when we first arrived. You don't have to choose sides. We will work together to make sure Alexandria is safe."

"What?" Carl frowned with a hint of disgust. "You'll be coworkers?"

"No. Yes. Carl, I don't know what will happen. I can't say what you want to hear but we made progress. We've done a lot of talking lately. When it ended back in Georgia things weren't so black and white but I know she didn't mean to hurt us."

"Is that what you thought? You thought she meant to hurt us? How could you know her and love her but think that? That's not Michonne. How could you not know that?"

"I guess you had it all figured out." He was annoyed with his son's belief that matters of the heart were simple. The young were the last bastion of happily ever after and painless love. They didn't know any better. They didn't know love was messy and that those you love you hurt the most wasn't a cliche, it was the way of the universe.

"No, I didn't and I still don't. But I know she didn't leave because leaving made her happier. She left because it hurt to stay."

"Is that what she told you?" That sounded like something she would say. Like some psychological mumbo jumbo disguised as an excuse. Did she try to place the blame on him as to why they didn't make it? It felt like a betrayal for her to be in his son's ear.

"No."

"What did she tell you?"

"She never says anything about you if that's what you're thinking."

"I didn't know you two talked."

"I could say the same. All that matters is I love you both and I'm on both your sides." He nodded at the plate. "Eat your breakfast. Are you going to tell anyone you two were married?"

"Probably not." He shrugged as he stabbed his fork into the eggs. "I really don't know." He didn't know much. He hated that he still dragged Carl into a mess. He was confused and now so was Carl.

"I get that it's a lot," Carl said as he stood up. "But if you guys don't figure it out, it'll probably get bad again."

He watched as Carl headed toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"I need some air. I've been stuck inside in bed for a long time."

He fought the urge to tell him to stay on the porch or ask him where he was going and when he'd be back. Walls surrounded them and the harsh realities of this world strengthened Carl. Besides, it seemed condescending to treat him like a child when he repeatedly stepped up and saved lives. Rick took a bite into his eggs; between Carl always overcooking scrambled eggs and time enough to get cold, it was like chewing rubber.

* * *

Michonne watched from her living room window as Sasha and Waltman ambled down the sidewalk. She smiled as she watched Sasha fail to suppress the smile that spread across her face at something Waltman said. It was good to see her smile, see her shoulders not up by her ears instead of looking like she was ready to kill whatever crossed her path. Sasha wasn't fixed, Michonne wasn't sure that was possible, not for any of them, but it was progress. Waltman appeared to ask her something and pointed behind him. Sasha glanced at Michonne's brownstone and shook her head then watched for a moment as Waltman walked away.

Moments later there was a knock on Michonne's door.

"You are way too young to be the old lady watching everyone from your window."

Michonne laughed. "Come in."

She shook her head and looked up and down the street. "I just wanted to say thank you for last night. It felt good to not think even if for a night."

"You can have more of those nights."

Sasha shook her head.

"I promise you, you never forget what's outside those gates if that's what you're worried about. Not you because you've been out there. It's part of your DNA now." Michonne leaned against the door. "So, Walt?"

"Walt walked me home. We sat on the porch and talked for a while. He left kind of late and I noticed Rick hadn't made it home when I went inside." Michonne frowned. "He's my neighbor."

Michonne ignored the implication of Rick's night away from home. "So, you and Walt…"

"He wants more than I'm willing to give or even try and I don't want to lead him on. Wait. Is that what the dinner was about? Are you trying to set me up?"

"No. I'm not the cupid type. Saves me the trouble of being caught in the middle when shit goes bad. He asked about you but I thought he was concerned because he saw what I saw."

"And what's that?" She looked annoyed.

Michonne hoped Sasha didn't think they were planning something behind her back. It wasn't that way. "That you need to unpack some things. It was from a place of empathy."

She watched as Sasha seemed to retreat into her head. She knew she couldn't rush to fill the silence. Keeping a person distracted from the bad shit wasn't possible. At some point there was silence and isolation and reminders. There was no way to forget, only thing you could do was cope and find a way to make peace with your decisions, some of which, were the wrong ones. They all had their share of bad decisions.

"Come in," Michonne said as she pushed the door open wider. "There's something I want to give you." She grabbed a yellow journal from the bookshelf, happy that Sasha came inside and closed the door. "Here," she said as she held it out. "This is for you."

"To do what?" Sasha asked skeptically.

"One day I saw Reg writing in a notebook and I thought about it. Everything we go through will be in the history books. We can't let the men be the ones to tell the stories or just like before we'll be lost in history. You think they'll tell all the kick ass things we did? All the times we saved _their_ asses?"

Sasha laughed. "They definitely won't tell how I took out a guy from three hundred yards with a single shot while upside down. Or how Carol blew up a community to single-handedly save us from cannibals who had us locked in a train car."

"Carol. What's her story?"

"What do you mean?" She opened the notebook and ran her finger over the blank, crisp pages.

"I suppose you'll say everyone in your group is a good person, that you'd risk your lives for each other."

"Because that's the truth." Sasha stood up straight and the indifference on her face seemed even more so. "What are you getting at?"

"Blowing up a community, saving you from cannibals." Michonne sat on the couch. "Guess that doesn't exactly sound like a woman who is afraid of guns and wants to be mother goose. Why the charade?"

"She has her reasons."

Carol still left a bad taste in Michonne's mouth but her group seemed to love her. There had to be something there she didn't see. "I suppose but we've let you in. You all see we're not whoever you dealt with in the past. Why continue?"

She watched Sasha struggle for an answer. Michonne figured she didn't have one; would never come up with an answer because she didn't know. There was something off about Carol and not even her people seemed to be aware just like they weren't aware of Sasha's issues. They would die for each other but they didn't seem to know what was on each other's minds. Michonne tried hard not to judge. When you're out there, you just want to survive somehow. You crossed lines you never thought you'd run up against and it was scary how easy it was to keep going forward, further and further away from the line. Away from what was right. From what was normal.

"She's been through more than anyone I know."

"Other than you?"

Sasha paused but ignored the comment then sat down in the armchair across from Michonne. "I came to the group a little later, but I heard her husband was abusive and she lost her daughter. She watched Rick put her daughter down. She's not a bad person, she's just trying to figure out who she is in this shit show of a world. I imagine it's even harder when you didn't know who you were before it started. Give her a chance."

"When I meet her, the real her, I'll do that."

Sasha shrugged. "So," she turned the notebook around, "any rhyme or reason to this journaling?"

"So in the beginning of my notebooks I put my name, birthday, where I was born, lived, worked and my social security number. When civilization returns, when the computers start up again, people will be able to know exactly who I am."

"You aiming for a biography? A biopic?"

"I think it's like a point of reference. Helps understand who I was before all this. Maybe understand why I saw things the way I did. I don't know, really."

"How many notebooks have you finished?"

"I've filled five."

Sasha nodded and smiled just a little. "I thought you may be a recovering lawyer."

Michonne smiled. "What do you know about that?"

"I had two friends who were lawyers. Both gave it up to write."

"I know a couple of those too. Sometimes there's more justice in fiction than the justice system."

She watched as Sasha opened the notebook again, turning the blank pages. Blank pages always excited Michonne. They signified a new beginning, opportunities, a clean slate. She thought about her situation with Rick and wondered what she was doing. That could never be a blank slate. Their minds and hearts were stained with the past however faint like the erased mistakes on a piece of paper.

"What do you want the final story of your life to be?" Sasha asked.

Michonne rolled her eyes. "That's like the 'What do you want people to remember about you' question. I don't know."

"No, that question is never about the person answering. It's about the people who are doing the remembering. That's not your concern. What do you want? You don't seem to think about you much."

She was about to answer. Give one of those trite responses where they would both know it was bullshit. Where you say something without really saying something. But Sasha was smarter than that and somehow Michonne felt she owed Sasha more than that.

"Not just to be safe," Sasha said. "I mean, what do you want for you?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it. What about you? Your future. You think you'll be ready to give it a chance?"

"Give what a chance?"

"Life. Love."

"With Waltman?" Sasha raised an eyebrow.

Michonne chuckled. "Anyone. Is there someone in your group?" She asked that out of reflex. She always asked questions. Always wanted to hear the answer someone offered even though she knew the truth. You learned more from the omissions and lies people told than the truth. If there was someone in her group, he wasn't worthy because he wasn't there to catch her from the free fall she had been on. That's not the type of man any woman needs, let alone a woman like Sasha. Especially in this world. And once she was completely out of her haze she'd see him from the failure he was. No, Michonne answered her own question, there was no one in her group.

"We talk about staying the same, not letting this world change us. But everything is an opportunity. Why go through all this devastation, be broken and not rise and be something or someone different, something more?" Sasha looked at her. "Maybe that's what I want — to be more. Better."

They sat there in silence. Both contemplating the questions posed to them and the ones they asked. Though life was dangerous, it was more simple. Simple didn't mean easy. Everything was complicated now. Desires. Choices. Answers.

"Here." Michonne grabbed another notebook, this one red, and handed it to Sasha. "For Carol. Maybe it'll help her tell the future what she can't say now."

* * *

It was a beautiful day. They'd been in Alexandria long enough for Rick to notice these kinds of things, the small things like the weather, what people were wearing, and food. He found himself appreciating the taste and noticing the lack of instead of eating for survival. He stood on the porch, leaning over the rail, allowing himself a moment to be thankful for what they fought so hard to have. Sometimes he forgot to do that — acknowledge what they had and the people who made it possible. He wasn't a jackass, but this was a world of scarcity and he was always on the lookout for resources.

It had been two days since his night with Michonne. They saw each other in passing. Didn't bother to seek each other out. No words exchanged, just nods of acknowledgment while in the presence of others. His desire for space seemed a kind of stupid considering he knocked on her door and didn't leave when he knew he should have. What did he want? He still didn't know. It was getting harder to figure out as time went on. Carl wasn't speaking to him beyond monosyllabic answers he uttered. It was a clusterfuck of his own making.

He heard footsteps and looked over to see Deanna climbing the stairs with a folder in her hand.

"Rick," she greeted him.

He nodded in response and waited for her to speak.

She smiled. "The plans, rosters, and schedules you and Michonne came up with are," she said and let out a laugh filled with something other than amusement. Maybe amazement. "Well, they're why I wanted you two working together."

That first night he and Michonne worked on those plans he saw her in a different light. It was one thing to be tough in the old world. That meant she stuck up for herself at the office; was independent and self-sufficient. He may have taught her how to shoot and she practiced martial arts, but what you had to do in this world to survive was something different. The biggest hurdles weren't physical, they were mental. It was telling yourself you had to do what was necessary despite that voice in your head telling you it was wrong. Because what had to be done and what was the right thing to do weren't always the same. He saw it with evolution of Maggie and Carol.

"They're just plans. Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth."

"Ah yes. The great philosopher Mike Tyson." She lifted the folder. "It's true. You do all this but you can still die."

"That's life — we're born to die. It'll happen to us all. I don't want it to happen for a long time. For anyone of us."

"What are you going to do during that long time between now and then?"

He didn't have an answer. It almost seemed an unfair question. It was like asking a 5-year-old what they wanted to be when they grew up. They only had their limited experience and didn't know anything beyond it. Same now. No one knew what to expect now, other than disappointment and death. And who wanted to think of that?

"You fought so hard to survive just to die near the woman you love without loving her with everything you have for as long as you have?"

He frowned.

"Morbid, I know."

"What are you talking about?" He asked slowly. Cautiously.

"Michonne. I thought you'd work so well together because I saw two tough as nails people with moral compasses pointed in the right direction. I never imagined you were once married." She laughed. "I bet you were one hell of a couple."

"How do you know about me and Michonne?"

"Carl told me."

He wasn't prepared for people to know about his marriage to Michonne. He wasn't sure he ever wanted anyone to know. If they remained estranged what would be the point? He was never into people knowing his business but here, in this confined environment, it'd be even worse than back home in their town, population 12,696.

"I ran into him and I could tell something was bothering him. He needed to process."

"Process what?" Whatever Carl needed to process he could do it with his father and not a woman he just met. These times made people trust too much, too soon. Though he had always been there for Carl and never turned him away when he wanted to talk about something, Rick wouldn't have been upset if Carl went to Maggie or Glenn if he didn't want to talk him.

"You know, it wasn't just your marriage that ended. It was his family that was torn apart. Don't be angry with him. He's feeling a lot right now. I think he's had a lot bottled up for a long time."

Rick had to admit anything dealing with Michonne made for hard conversations with his son. Back home Rick wasn't as open to talking about his feelings, why they separated, and what the future held. In fact, Rick did better talking with Carl about the death of his mother than he did with the divorce. But now, in this new world, there was nothing he and Carl couldn't discuss. He broke eye contact with Deanna and looked straight ahead. "What did he say?" He hated that he felt compelled to ask a stranger about his son, but it wasn't about him, it was about helping Carl and he couldn't let his pride get in the way of that.

"He's happy you and Michonne are talking about what happened. He's hopeful he may get his family back."

This was the very thing he didn't want — to give Carl a reason to believe everything would work out, that things would go back to how they once were. He couldn't guarantee that.

"What was it like talking after all that time?"

Instinctively he wanted to shut down, but he had no one to talk to about this. Carl was his son, not his friend, and he had his own issues regarding what happened. Rick felt it unfair to share certain thoughts with Carl. It was obvious Michonne had Waltman and Sasha to talk to.

"If nothing else, it's good for Carl."

"Why?"

"Closure."

Deanna smiled softly. "Closure is a myth. But I'm sure Carl will get something good out of it. What about you? What good has come out of it for you?"

"I could see that things weren't exactly how I saw them when I was in the middle of the storm."

"Well, it's an inconvenient truth."

"What's that?"

"That we're not perfect," Deanna said. She smiled at him. "I take it that meant you realized you weren't blameless in the failure of your marriage."

"I-" He snapped his mouth shut. He didn't owe Deanna the intimate details of his marriage. "Things happened I seem to have a hard time forgetting."

"It's not about forgetting. It's about forgiving and choosing to move forward. Was it all so bad? Really?"

"What?"

"I just mean the circumstances of the past aren't the circumstances of the present or the future. Those problems were like the constant dripping of water on a stone eroding what you once had. But everything that got in the way no longer exists."

"You don't get to dismiss those things like they don't matter just because there were no dead people walking around trying to kill us. You can't compare the past to what's happening now and minimize it."

"No, they mattered and whatever feelings you had mattered, Rick. They truly did. Back then. I'm not minimizing what you went through but do they matter now? Who left clothes on the floor. Who didn't do their fair share of the chores. The friends you didn't like. The work hours. The bills. The in-laws."

"Those weren't really our problems."

"The problems you had then are the same now?"

"The underlying ones that made those problems exist."

She nodded. "The conflicts were symptoms of the problem."

"Lack of respect. Lack of communication."

"Fair enough. She respects you. I could see it in the way she talked about you before I knew your history. How she vouched for your group to stay but she mostly talked about you. He's a good man. He'll do what's right. He's a great leader. And from the beginning, you respected her too. What she could do."

"That doesn't mean we go back to what we were."

"I don't know what your problems were, but I was a licensed mediator and if I can be of any help-"

"Why? Why do you care?"

"I believe this will be the beginning of civilization, Rick. Is it any surprise I want to see love conquer all?" She smiled.

"Not a surprise at all but no thank you."

"Or maybe Denise. She was a psychiatrist."

"The whole point of going to a therapist is because they're a stranger. An unbiased third party. That's not you and Denise. You've known Michonne longer and you're our neighbors."

"Okay. I understand that. But I like that you even considered it for a moment."

He knew how it went. But even the stranger didn't seem unbiased. That one session he and Michonne had felt like Michonne and the doctor, a woman, were throwing knowing looks at each other. Whatever he said, she seemed to criticize but whatever Michonne said seemed to make sense. She was definitely on Michonne's side. Some kind of sisterhood. Therapy wasn't his thing. He was raised to believe a man and woman worked out their own problems. He did it for Michonne.

"Yeah," he said.

"I guess all anyone can say is to be honest with yourself, love yourself, and be as empathetic as you can." She patted him on his shoulder and walked away.

If he were being honest, he fucked up, and he didn't know how to come back from that. When they were together and things were happy and perfect, his marriage to Michonne was a source of pride, even more than a successful marriage would be to anyone because his first, in his eyes, was a failure. It didn't end in divorce but it died long before his first wife took her final breath. In many ways he needed his marriage to Michonne to work so it would validate that he was a good man. That he wasn't a failure. That was fucked up of him. He placed standards on Michonne she didn't know existed. Maybe she didn't stand a chance, and it wasn't her fault.

The answers of why she left was all he wanted from Michonne since the day she walked away and now that he had them he didn't know what to do with it because the truth told him just as much about himself as it did about her. And he didn't like what he learned about himself. He didn't know how to digest it. It wasn't palatable, but was it all forgivable? He stopped talking to Michonne, and he stopped liking her but he never stopped loving her.

* * *

Day's end was near and Michonne found herself in the one place she was willing to leave Alexandria for besides runs. The field was bare of anything not created by nature, a rich sea of green as far as the eye could see. It was elevated and therefore had a magnificent view in whatever direction she turned, including one of Alexandria. She closed her eyes — something rarely done because heads remained on a swivel for survival's sake — and allowed herself the pleasure of listening to the birds sing like they had back when the world was normal. It rained earlier, the petrichor heavy in the air, emanating from the grass and trees. She wished she could bottle up that smell. It reminded her of sitting on her grandparents' front porch. Those times always represented a happiness that had been unmatched in her life. There was no stress, no doubts, no problems — just love.

Out here, beyond the confines of the community, she could breathe. It was stifling inside the walls. Seeing Carl and Rick at every turn made things hard especially since the night she spent with Rick. It was the pain of the past mixed with the uncertainty of the future. It was a heartbreaking anxiety-inducing combination. She didn't know if she was coming or going. The more time she and Rick avoided their status the more she questioned what could be. What should be.

She turned when she heard the crunch of twigs and leaves under a heavy foot. She placed her hand on her sword, ready for whatever came her way. Though her heart continued to race, her shoulders fell as she watched Carl head her way wearing Rick's deputy hat. He looked so much like his father when he wore that hat. She smiled as she remembered a picture of a young Carl, no more than four years old, wearing Rick's hat and boots.

"How did you survive making all that noise?" She smiled.

"I didn't want to startle you."

Thoughtful as always. "What are you doing out here?"

"I saw you leaving." He looked around. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

She almost made a joke about his age but Carl had been out here and not for a day or two. He lived out here; survived out here. Out here was in his DNA. She had a feeling she could trust him to have her back out here but she'd feel better if he had a gun.

"No weapon?"

He unsheathed a knife from his waist. She refrained from making a Crocodile Dundee joke about the size of his knife knowing it would be lost on him. He sat on the large rock, making room for her. She sat down, stealing looks at his profile as he took in the view. The urge to tell jokes — she was nervous. She hadn't been nervous around Carl since the first time they met. So many things rushed through her mind. What if he didn't like her? Would that mean ending things with Rick? What would happen if she loved him and she and Rick didn't last? Rick introduced her as his friend but Carl caught on real fast there was more to them than friendship.

"This kind of reminds me of Amicalola Falls when we stayed at that lodge and went zip lining. That was so cool."

That was their first vacation as a family and it warmed her heart she was part of his happy memories. Though she and Carl had fun almost instantly, before she was the woman his dad was dating. But after they married, she wanted to get off on a good foot — trying to walk that fine line of step-mom but not trying to replace his mom — so she figured zip lining, archery, and other outdoor activities would be better than Rick's suggestion of Disney World.

"Yeah, it was."

As much as she'd like to think they were at a point where they could reminisce about family vacations back in Georgia, that was not what they were destined to talk about. There was still emotional baggage to face.

"So, you and my dad…"

She let the words linger in the air full of the unknown his unfinished sentence created. He brought up the topic, in her mind it was only fair for him to drive the conversation. Besides, she didn't want to steer the conversation in a direction he wasn't comfortable with.

"Are you two going to be together now?"

"What do you mean by that?" She held her breath but instinctively knew. Knew that Carl knew of her night with Rick. That's what the _now_ signified.

He looked at her. Just looked. The annoyance coming through loud and clear thanks to that apathetic expression. Was this the natural age kids stopped suffering adult's foolish shit? Or was it hastened by their drastically shortened life span?

"Honestly — and this is the most honest thing I've ever said in my life — I don't know."

He nodded.

"What is it you want?" She hated herself for asking. It was like mining the mind of a child for answers she herself didn't have. As if she'd take her cue from him.

"Does it matter?"

"I always care about your feelings."

"I'm fine with whatever you do as long as we're friends."

"Really?"

"I guess. I mean, we live so close. You're a minute away." He looked away so she couldn't see his face. He knew she could read him like a book. "It's not like before when you moved far away."

The sadness in his voice was palpable when he spoke of her moving. That was a dagger of a guilt that would never leave her heart. "It's okay to want more."

"Do you want more?" He glanced at her.

She thought about it. "I'm not sure."

"How come? You don't love him anymore?"

It broke her heart to hear that question because she felt like she failed at loving Rick in a way that would have made that question unnecessary. Did Carl not see love in the marriage? "I never stopped loving your dad. Or you."

"Then I don't understand." He shook his head and became visibly frustrated. "What's the problem?"

In that moment Carl was no longer the man who slayed monsters and survived the worst the world dished out. In that moment, he was a child searching for answers about his family. Unable to understand love beyond feelings, that love was fueled by needs and actions not wants and likes.

"It's not as simple as love. Remember Patrick, that kid from your class allergic to nuts?"

"Yeah."

"He loved nuts, but they weren't good for him."

He frowned. "I don't really get the connection."

"Okay, that one got away from me. I just mean that because you love someone doesn't mean it'll work out. In many ways, your dad and I brought out the best in each other. And in other ways…"

"What? You brought out the worst?"

"No. I wouldn't say that. Maybe… I would say sometimes my worst tendencies hurt your dad and his did the same to me. We didn't mean to."

"What's so hard about not doing the things that hurt the person you love?"

She hugged herself when a gust of wind came cutting through her gray thermal top. It was hard explaining love to someone who never experienced it. Making a marriage work was about how a couple handled living in the gray areas. Black and white issues were just that — black and white. Don't cheat. Don't hit. Simple. But the gray? That's where a marriage thrived or died. In the gray is where both people were right, both had a point.

"Sometimes when we're in a relationship, we can't be the person people need us to be and sometimes they can't be who we need them to be. No matter how hard we want to be." Maybe that's what she and Rick were. Close but not enough. Bullshit. They were enough. She was just preparing herself for the continued failure of their marriage.

"Carl."

She and Carl turned toward the voice that interrupted their moment. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or disappointed.

"Dad. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." Rick stepped closer to them.

She wondered how long he'd been there. Watching. Listening. Everything about Rick was calculated. Never did he allow himself to enter a situation blind. At least, everything except falling in and out of love with her. Maybe that's why he was as angry with himself as he was with her. He didn't see her coming. He didn't have a plan for her.

"The weather is getting bad. You better head back to Alexandria."

Rick's gaze was focused on the horizon. Carl and Michonne looked at each other briefly. She smiled, letting him know it was okay with her. She understood. She didn't see him as choosing between the two of them. She gave him a little wink and nodded her head.

Carl took a few steps and stopped. "Are you coming?"

"Go ahead. I'll catch up." Rick turned back to look at her.

Carl waited a few beats longer than expected. Long enough for her to wonder if he was defying his father's order. Something she never saw him do back in King County. Rick was one of those rare men who didn't need anger and fear for his son to be obedient, it was done out of respect and love. Carl shuffled off out of sight.

Rick's face was stoic. His body at the ready for whatever would come their way. It was quiet for a while and she wasn't sure if it was because he didn't know what to say or he was waiting until he thought Carl was no longer eavesdropping.

"What are you doing out here?" She asked.

"Looking for Carl."

She silenced her quick mouth that wanted to tell him he sent Carl away and was standing there alone with her.

"About the other night," he said. "I don't know what to say."

"What is there to say?" They were two people who once had great sex and wanted to feel that again. Honestly, she couldn't imagine looking at Rick and not reminiscing about their healthy and abundant sex life. It took nothing for them to be in the mood. One moment she was at the kitchen table reviewing a file, the next Rick was pulling her onto the floor. She once got turned on watching him flip burgers on the grill with one hand and a beer in the other, his eyes barely visible under one of those hideous trucker hats that looked sexy on only him.

"Part of me wants to just try to be what we were when we first met." He looked over at her briefly.

She steadied herself, focused on her breathing, not wanting to give away anything even though she wasn't sure what she was feeling upon hearing that. "And the other part?"

"There isn't just two parts — good and bad, yes and no — there's many. Another part wants be far away from you, another part wants to be friends, another part wants to be your enemy," he lowered his voice, "another part your lover."

She understood that all. She and Rick had always been many things to each other.

"I loved you so much I couldn't see straight. Maybe that's why it hurt so bad. After losing my first wife, I was in a haze. I never thought I'd love again. You brought me back to life, made me open up and then you left."

"Rick-"

"No," he said as he lifted his hand. "Let me finish."

She almost nodded but could feel the tears form in her eyes because she never heard this before. Never knew she meant all that to Rick because he never said it. From the moment they met he was full of life. She didn't know he became that because she entered the picture.

"And so even though I still love you, still desire you, still amazed by you, your leaving felt like the ultimate betrayal. I don't know if I can get past it. I don't know if I can trust you to not do it again. Sometimes I feel like I'm wallowing in the past and I hate myself for it. I'm not trying to make you pay or make you hurt. My heart and my body want you but my head keeps screaming it would be the biggest mistake of my life. That it would be a disaster waiting to happen."

"I get it. That's something you need to figure out."

"I just don't know how to let go." He stepped closer to her. "But I want to."

She knew he did. She could see the difference. The hatred in his eyes was no longer there when he looked at her. His voice, when he spoke to her, was reverting back to the gentle sound she remembered.

The wind blew her hair in her face. Stubbornly, it remained against her cheek. It was like slow motion or maybe it was déjà vu or clairvoyance, but she knew it before it happened. Knew he would reach out and push the hair from her face. Or maybe she just knew this man. He was once her man. Knew all his charms. All his romantic ways. She caught his hand before he could brush back her hair. No more. No more tender moments. No more spontaneous touches. From now on their intimacy had to be with intention.


	12. Work in Progress

_**A/N: Whew, I've never hit the pause button this long on a story.**_ _ **way too long.**_ _ **I'm sorry.**_

* * *

He always thought in another lifetime, another world, he and Michonne could make it work. Well, here they were and Deanna was right. There was none of the bullshit that weighed them down before. There were no career tracks or greener pastures or country mouse-city mouse differences. There was just survival and family, and if one should be so lucky — love. And though he threw a low blow earlier, he knew she'd never leave him or Carl behind. Not in this world. She would die for Carl and for him just as they would do the same for her. But when they stood on that cliff and looked down at the world, so hauntingly yet beautifully lifeless, she rejected him. Denied him when he went to do something as simple as move the hair from her face. But who was he trying to kid? There was never innocent touches between them. Not even on their first date. So rejection from her cut him deep. That was a feeling he could never handle. Not from her. It made him question everything about himself.

From his porch he watched her as she interacted with the residents. She communicated with her hands. Pointing this way and that way. She was always like that. She talked with not just her mouth but with her body, her eyes. Even in silence he knew her every emotion — from happiness to anger and everything in between.

One resident approached her and asked her something. She didn't miss a beat. Didn't need to think about whatever it was she told him. She was so sure of herself. Seemed like she always had her shit together. It was one thing to take charge back in the old world — she was a trained lawyer. But people who had their shit together in a stable world didn't always have it together in this new world. But her strengths — mental strength, intelligence, determination — he figured those translated no matter the environment. Back when they were a family, they watched that Tom Hanks movie _Castaway_ _,_ and he recalled her saying you could drop her off anywhere and she'd survive. She was right. Maybe even more than she imagined.

"Are you two going to give it another shot?"

He looked over to see Glenn standing beside him. He didn't even hear him approaching, let alone notice him stand next to him. Maybe this place was making him soft. It had been a long time since he didn't have his guard up. It wasn't that long ago, when they were out there, that he could hear a bird land on a bed of leaves.

Glenn smiled. "Michonne? Are you two going to make it work this time?"

He stared at Glenn for a moment. The younger man unable to contain the grin spreading across his face. It was obvious Glenn knew, so he decided against playing stupid. "How do you know about her?" He wasn't sure if it upset him people knew his business or protective of what he and Michonne had and lost — a beautiful disaster. Or maybe he was just embarrassed.

"Carl told us."

"Carl." He shook his head. His son was determined to force his hand, like there needed to be some kind of reckoning. He frowned. "Us? Who exactly is us?"

"Me, Maggie, Daryl, Carol, and Tara."

First, Carl told Deanna and now them. "What about the rest of the community?"

"Oh, that's her side of the family. She can tell them."

"What happened to no more us versus them?" Rick tried to erase the divide he had in his mind, but it was hard. It wasn't about his people versus the Alexandrians. It was those who could handle themselves and those who could not — and it was obvious on which side of the line everyone stood.

"So?" Glenn asked.

"So, what?" Rick knew what Glenn wanted to know, but he was stalling. His thoughts, his feelings for Michonne — both the good and the bad — were so deep he feared what he would sound like if he tried to express them.

"I think you're being as ridiculous as I was when I met Maggie and I almost ruined it."

Rick wasn't sure if Glenn was supposed to tell him he knew about his marriage to Michonne, but now that he did, he couldn't help but talk about it. There were countless things to discuss. Training the Alexandrians, expansion of the community, supply runs, and the need to grow more crops. But Rick's love life was what mattered to Glenn.

"How do you know? You know nothing about her. Michonne."

"First, you married her and you brought her into your family with Carl so that tells me a lot about her," he said. "And Carl loves her. I could see it in the way he talked about her and how he had her back even when we asked innocent questions. I thought he was ready to fight."

"He's biased."

Glenn shook his head. "He's loyal. He loves her and so does Maggie."

Just as Glenn said that, Michonne and Maggie shared a laugh. Though Deanna wanted him to work with Michonne, it was Maggie who did the most interacting with her. That didn't disappoint him much. Working on plans for the community would only serve as opportunities to argue. He and Michonne felt differently about this place. He was of the opinion, actually to him it was a fact, that these people lasted this long out of sheer luck. They were lucky to find this place. Lucky it was empty. Lucky it was isolated. Lucky Deanna got special treatment because she was a Congresswoman. Lucky Reg was an architect. Lucky Pete was a surgeon.

His group, they weren't about luck. Sure, he was a deputy and Abraham was a soldier. But the rest of them? A pizza delivery guy, a housewife, a firefighter, and an unemployed redneck? They were fighters. Survivors.

Rick leaned down on the porch railing, attempting to take some weight off his feet, moving them around as much as he could in his worn down boots. He was certain he could feel the heat radiating from the asphalt as they made that long trek after their last vehicle ran out of gas. They rotated who rode in the vehicle and who walked alongside it. They never drove fast enough to feel the wind through the windows. He was tired, but the day was hardly done.

"Deanna wants to keep looking for people," Rick said.

"Daryl mentioned that," Glenn said.

"You think that's a good idea?"

"Sure." When Glenn was met with silence he looked over at Rick. "What? You don't?"

"No, I don't."

"Now that they've let us in? Way to pull up the ladder after you've made it."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Sounds like it."

"We're what these people needed to survive." Not too long ago he was defending these people to Carol.

"And they're what we needed. We've saved them, but they saved us too. We wouldn't have made it much longer out there, Rick."

Maybe that was true, but Rick would bet all his chips that his group would make it without the invitation over these people making it without them.

"Michonne and Maggie," Glenn said as he nodded in the women's direction. "They prove that you can know how to survive out there and know how to survive in here. It's not one or the other."

Rick knew Sasha, Carol, and Daryl hadn't adjusted to this place.

"What about you? You good in here?" Rick asked.

"Not quite, but I'll get there and so will you. If that's what you're worried about."

Rick frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You want it. A relationship with her but you need to adjust to being in this place. Is that what it is?" Glenn couldn't contain his excitement at being the one to finally dish out the advice.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "We've been down that road before and a lot has changed since then. I've changed. She's changed. A different time. We're different people."

But Glenn was right. Rick wasn't so sure Michonne would or could love the man he was now. He was restless and had a hard time trusting. For better or worse, he was nothing like the man she fell in love with.

"We've talked. I guess we've worked it out. I understand what she did. She understood what I did." He gripped the back of his neck. "I just don't know."

"You know. You're afraid to want it." Glenn shrugged. "Maybe you don't want to look like the weak guy who loves the woman who walked out on him."

"Just how much did Carl tell you?"

"Why else have you been an ass about her being here?"

"You ever considered maybe I just don't have strong feelings for her anymore?" Rick asked.

"No,." Glenn said. Rick laughed, but Glenn didn't let that dissuade him. "What you feel for strangers can't be stronger than what you feel for her," Glenn said.

"People say they can't imagine the pain of losing the person they love. But they can. You can imagine the pain of losing Maggie the way we lose people these days. It would be a pain you've never experienced, but you can imagine it. But can you imagine losing her because she walked away? That," he said as he looked over at Glenn. "You can't begin to imagine."

He stood up straight when it seemed he finally gave Glenn something to think about. And that maybe Glenn didn't have all the answers to his love life. "Losing a woman like that," he said as he looked over in Michonne's direction. "It eats at you until you're less than what you were before she entered your life." He walked off.

"I might not understand," Glenn called out. "But for the record, I call bullshit. You know what you want and the fact that it's possible — that you could have it, another chance — is a gift."

Rick kept walking.

"A gift," Glenn called out one last time.

A gift. Maybe. But did he trust himself to deal with the feelings he had buried for so long? To not use the past to bludgeon her?

* * *

"Dani has a Virginia planting schedule wall calendar she gave me," Maggie said. "We've missed the planting season but we'll be ready for the next one and come summer we'll be eating fresh food and by this time next year we'll be preparing to harvest. We'll need more canning jars. That needs to be a priority when we're out there on runs."

Michonne nodded. "That sounds great. I'll make sure everyone adds canning jars to their lists. You should get with Abraham and let him know how much land we need for the crops. The construction crew can wall it off. And we can plant some things inside these walls if you think that's a good idea."

"Yeah," Maggie said. "I do."

"What kind of food are we talking about?" Tobin asked.

Maggie smiled. "Lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, kale, peas, spinach, corn."

"How about fruit?" Waltman asked.

"Apples, pears, cherries," Maggie said. "Figs and plums."

"Say no more," Waltman said. He turned to Tobin. "How long do you think it'll take to get the walls up?"

"I don't see why it can't be done before snow falls." Tobin pulled the pencil from behind his ear and started sketching.

"Get Eugene in on this," Michonne called out, but she wasn't sure they heard her as they walked off discussing the best way to protect the crops and still make sure there was ample light.

"You've got them on cloud nine," Michonne said as she turned to Maggie. "I don't think there's been this much excitement since Aaron and Eric brought back a wild boar to eat a few months ago."

"Well, we're in this for the long haul so we need to put down roots. There's only so many more canned goods out there." She turned her attention away from the men and looked at Michonne. "I'm glad you all welcomed us in. We all are."

"So am I."

"What you said that night, and Waltman too, I know that made a huge difference. The others couldn't see it. And maybe they don't see it completely, but there will come a time when they will." When Michonne didn't respond, Maggie's shoulders dropped and her voice became more solemn. "I'm not saying I want that to happen. It's just the way it goes."

Michonne nodded. "I know."

Maggie placed her hand on Michonne's shoulder. "But we'll be ready. All of us." They shared a smile. Maggie gave Michonne's shoulder a squeeze. "I'm going to find Eugene."

Michonne took a moment to watch Maggie walk off smiling, waving, and chatting with residents as she confidently made her way through the community. She fit in. Immediately. None of the others were as seamless in their transition into Alexandria. It was like Maggie knew this was a place they needed to be. What she loved most about Maggie was that she didn't allow that she was new to prevent her from speaking up and contributing when she knew she was right.

Michonne made her way to Deanna's home, hoping the latest plans for the future would lift her spirits. She knew Deanna would have her bad days, that the smallest thing would remind her of the son she lost, and it was all normal but it still pained Michonne to see Deanna that way. She was a light for the community. They needed to see her okay.

There was a slight hesitation when she saw Carol, causing just the slightest hitch in her step. What Michonne wanted to do was turn and walk the other way to prevent herself from doing what she was about to do. But she couldn't get Sasha's words out of her head. Carol lost a child. To lose a child in this world, in that way — because however it happens now it's always brutal — took a toll on Carol like it would take on anyone. She wanted to be mindful of that. These people were here for the long haul.

"Hi, Michonne." She smiled. "I said that right, right?"

"You did. Hello, Carol," she said. It was like back in the old world, introducing herself to opposing counsel knowing they were underestimating her. Surely they knew her record but still thought they had the upper hand. Knew something she didn't. That they would differ from all those who failed before them.

"I haven't seen you since you brought back all that medicine with Rick. I feel like I should say thank you," she said with a smile. "So, thanks. Rick said you were great out there. You saved him."

"I heard you've done the same and more," Michonne said.

You do things out there to survive. For Carol, that included being someone she wasn't. It was a damn smart play — some of Michonne's best victories came when she was underestimated. When people didn't see you as a threat they didn't bring their A-game. So yeah, Michonne got it. But if she was going to have some type of connection with Carol beyond an antagonistic one, it couldn't be while Carol was cloaked in mystery and lies.

"What do you mean?"

She thought back to what Sasha said. How Carol blew up a community. Single-handedly saved the group.

"Your heroics out there." Michonne wondered if Carol would drop the act.

"Well, it was Daryl who caught the deer. I just made the stew." She smiled. "If I say so myself, even with the limited spices, it was good."

"Well," Michonne said with a smile, but she didn't know where to go from there. "I'm glad most of you are settling in."

"Daryl will get there. It'll just take him a little time." A gust of wind appeared and Carol pulled her olive cardigan tight against her body.

"I know there is a fear that being here with the running water and clean clothes that don't smell like mildew and comfortable mattresses makes you weak, but that's not the case."

"If something is too good to be true, it usually is," Carol said with a bit of attitude.

"I know people believe that," Michonne replied. "But like I said, that's not the case here." Michonne's voice became stern.

"I don't want there to be hard feelings between us. You're obviously not like the rest of these people," Carol said as she looked around the community.

Michonne knew this woman considered that a compliment, some kind of scrap Michonne should be happy to have. "And you're not like the rest of your people either."

The rest of them had some sense of humanity, even Rick's craziness was rooted in pain. What was more human than that? Carol seemed like an emotional wasteland, void of any feeling. Just cold and calculating. And Michonne knew that life, knew why she was that way and she felt sorry for the woman. It was the burden of loss, pain, death, and a lot of guilt. And it was hard to unshackle yourself from all that. Especially when you weren't willing to admit that was the problem. When you convinced yourself your ways were a necessary mechanism for survival rather than a ticking time bomb.

Out there, it was strength in numbers. They've all had less than favorable people in their groups. But Carol wasn't just a group member. Rick said they were family. Sasha, who like Rick, was a good judge of character, vouched for Carol. It wouldn't be easy, but Michonne had to try. She couldn't keep telling Rick to trust, to change his behavior, to go against the gut instinct he used to protect his people and not be willing to do the same.

Michonne wanted to end the charade for both their sakes because frankly, it was embarrassing. Two strong women pretending with each other when they should be allies. When there were bigger, existential threats to deal with. Their enemies were outside the walls. It shouldn't be each other.

Michonne took a deep breath. "I'm not clueless and you're not a den mother."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know what you think you know about me, but I think we're more alike than different. I feel like I know—"

"You know me? Is that what you're going to say?" Carol shook her head.

"I do."

"You don't," Carol said. "And honestly, I don't get you." The act was gone.

Michonne remained quiet, knowing Carol couldn't help but tell Michonne whatever it was she had been dying to say. To tell her she, like Rick, knew better.

"You let people walk around here with no guns, no training, no lookouts like this is Candy Land." Carol frowned and shook her head slightly. "Why? You're smarter than that."

As Carol stared at her with the look of disapproval, she thought back on all the times she unsuccessfully argued for many of the things Rick pushed for. Deanna was determined this new world was a chance to make life better than the last, where people would be moved by a sense of community. For Deanna, people not being ruled by money but by altruism was a grand experiment. She thought everyone having a common enemy, the dead, and the lack of money would make that happen. But Michonne couldn't make Deanna see that in a world without money there was still something that would show status and in these new days like the old, power was the ultimate end game.

"Changes are being made," Michonne said.

"I just hope it's not too late." She walked off.

As Michonne watched Carol walk away, she wanted to believe what Sasha had said about Carol. Carol just needed to give her a reason.

* * *

Rick stood at the base of the tower and, hands on his hips, looked up to where Sasha spent way too much time.

"Coming up," he shouted after he opened the door. Her trigger finger was quick, and he didn't want to be a casualty to her overeagerness and jumpy nature. His ascension was slow and surely she knew his voice, but still, she stood at the ready with rifle in hand.

"What's wrong?" She looked at him with wide, nervous eyes before looking through her rifle scope out the window, beyond the walls, searching for danger.

The area was tight but could comfortably handle two people. There were two chairs, one of which contained a folded blanket, and a small wastebasket. This was his first time up here. He stood next to her at the window.

"Did you see something? Is there something out there? Walkers? People?" Her questions came in rapid succession, making it hard to distinguish the end of one from the beginning of the next.

"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to talk. See how you're doing."

She dropped the rifle to her waist then slowly turned. She studied him, the look of skepticism on her face. That moment, that look on her face, made him disappointed in himself. Had he approached Glenn, Daryl, Carol, or Maggie they wouldn't have been surprised. But he'd never had a conversation with Sasha that didn't involve battle strategy. Not even after Tyreese.

"How've you been?" He asked.

Instead of giving an immediate rote answer. Instead of saying what she assumed he wanted to hear, she thought about it. She thought about it for a while to the point of making him wonder if she would even bother to answer.

"I'm not okay but I'm better." She looked him in his eyes when she said it and the display of strength went away when she broke eye contact as soon as she uttered the last syllable.

She looked out the window, and he studied her, really took her in. She was a larger-than-life force in a small frame. He never realized how small she was. Her hands were tiny, fingers slim, but with a weapon in those hands she was deadly. Her commanding voice and know-how shadowed it all. But at this moment, so close to her, she looked somewhat fragile.

What amazed him about the world today was that they didn't waste time with the lies, not even the little white lies. There was a fierce honesty — if you were willing to accept it — that was given. But he didn't. He didn't want their hard feelings. The painful ones. Or to ask the questions that didn't have answers. He didn't want the pain a first aid kit couldn't fix.

"If I ever made you feel," he said but paused. He stood up straight, turning slightly toward her. "You're not just an asset. You're a friend." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "No. You're family. If you ever want to talk… about anything, I'm here. I'm sorry I didn't make that clear. I'm sorry I wasn't around, but I am now."

That look of skepticism returned. She had a right to feel that way. They traveled many roads and spilled blood side by side and never once had he thought about taking her to the side to talk or just letting her know he was there if she wanted to work through some things like he had for Carol and Daryl or Maggie when her father died.

"I wasn't interested in doing much talking before."

That was true, yet it was still an out he wasn't willing to take. "And now?" He looked over at her.

"Now," she said with a sigh. "I have little choice." She gave him a half smile and a pointed look.

He nodded. "Michonne."

"She's persistent."

"That she is."

"Your wife helped a lot."

His wife. "It should have been me. Us. None of us saw it. I'm sorry."

"You couldn't see what I didn't want you to see."

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Not true. She saw. But she's always been that way." His voice lowered. "Seeing inside you. Like she could see the one thing you don't want her to see."

"What is it you don't want her to see now?"

Rick thought about that. Thought it would be good to have this sounding board Sasha seemed to offer. She knew the truth about his marriage to Michonne. And maybe, through Sasha, he could gain more insight into Michonne's current head space without the filter they used to protect themselves from being hurt by each other.

"I don't know."

Sasha shook her head with a slight smile. "She loves you." She nodded, her head almost in a trance. "It's obvious in every smile and all the pain when she talked about you and your time together. It's love." She looked over at Rick. "She never stopped. And maybe I'm wrong, but you love her too. Is that what you don't want her to see?"

"Eh. She knows that."

"Sometimes you need to hear it."

"Maybe we should keep things the way they are. Civil and working together to protect this community. If we try again —" He sputtered off, letting the idea of a reunion linger.

"And it doesn't work then scorched earth." She nodded. "It doesn't have to be that way either. You both know what's on the other side of making things work. What's on the other side of those walls."

"I don't want to walk around being uncomfortable. I don't want others to feel like they have to take sides."

"That's what you don't want. What do you want?" When he didn't answer she offered something personal. "I didn't want to live."

He frowned. "Sasha." He stopped, unsure of what to say.

"I didn't want to live because if you did that long enough you'd find something to live for. And I'd lost so much, I didn't want to have something it would hurt to lose. But I'm getting better. I want to have that something. That purpose."

He wanted to stop being afraid of happiness, but he didn't trust it. Not when he was responsible for his happiness. During his childhood, when he wasn't in charge of his life, he knew nothing but happiness but that was thanks to his parents and everyone else around him that had to make all the decisions and calculate the risk versus rewards. His adulthood knew more pain than his young self knew possible.

"At first thought, you two seem to be opposites but that's just the surface stuff. At your core, you're so much alike. Maybe it's the similarities that make it hard. Not the differences."

"Put myself out there. Just like that, huh?"

"You've done harder things. We all have," she said, seeming to think about something specific. Something personal. Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she looked up at him. "What you want isn't determined by what she wants. Besides, I have a feeling you both know you want the same thing but you've convinced yourself the other doesn't. I think the real issue is how you two should go about making sure you both get what you want. A second chance in this world," she whispered with the shake of her head. "That doesn't happen anymore. Don't let it slip away."

She had to be thinking of Bob.

The satisfaction of being vindicated never lasted long. It was ephemeral. Michonne accepting that she hurt him made him feel better, but now what? Admitting he wasn't perfect, that he wasn't some victim in the failing of their marriage felt like a resolution, but still something wasn't right.

It was hard. Michonne walking out on him. On a surface level he understood why. They discussed it before and after. But somehow he felt the thing between them now was the way he behaved after she left, when she was in D.C., and when he arrived in Alexandria. Somehow, he needed to atone for that but he wasn't sure how.

"You know, I came up here to talk about you, not about my shit."

"I think talking about you let's you get to know me. Don't you know more than you did before?" She looked out the window. The view seemed to give her a distraction when things were about her.

"Maybe but I still want to talk about you. After dinner at Michonne's, I realize there's so much about you I don't know."

She looked at him with a smirk. "You want to have mandatory get to know you sessions or something?"

He chuckled as he looked down at the floor. "No, nothing like that." He sobered up and placed his hand on her shoulder. "But seriously, whenever you want to talk, about whatever, you can come to me. And when you don't and I think you need someone, I will say something just like you did."

"Deal," she said with a smile he hadn't seen on her face in a long time.

* * *

"I had to escape some woman going on and on about a pasta maker." Rick shook his head as she stood at Michonne's door. "Imagine that being your biggest concern."

Michonne stepped aside as he entered her townhouse, the smell of soap lingering behind. He moved around comfortably, grabbing a glass near the sink and filling it halfway with water from the sink. He moved as if he belonged. Not as a guest. Once, he told her wherever she was felt like home to him. When it said it, it made her feel on top of the world. Special. Then he refused to be with her when she moved.

"Don't judge," she said as she joined him near the fireplace. When he scoffed, she stood next to him. "It's a distraction more than anything. She owned an Italian restaurant. The recipes were her family's, passed down for generations. Feeding people, people like you who do the dangerous things, that's her contribution. Nothing makes her happier than a good meal for people like you because she knows your hard work, the risks you take, keep her alive."

He bit his lower lip and broke eye contact, a sign that he realized he was being a bit of a jackass.

"So, I heard about the plans for the crops," he said.

But not enough of a jackass to acknowledge it. Just to move on.

"Maggie said everyone is on board. No push back. She said you played a big part in that. So, thank you."

"It wasn't about Maggie or you so no need to thank me for doing what's best for this community."

"But your word carries a lot of weight around here."

She nodded. "If it's a good idea, I'll back it. Makes no difference if someone has been here eight months or eight hours."

He took a long swallow and placed the glass on the mantle. Her hand was already itching to remove it — the anxiety of placing a drink on wood without a coaster whether it was hot, cold, or otherwise — when he picked it up and smiled. "Just kidding."

He sat on the couch and she followed. Feeling one step behind since the moment he arrived. Reacting to his moves. The last rays of sunlight were shining through the window landing on her side of the couch, blinding her and forcing her to move closer to him to escape them. In this moment, she waited. Waited for an action to react to. He came over to do more than thank her for supporting Maggie. That could have been said whenever he saw her. That could have been said at the door. She drew shapes, letters, and numbers on her denim-clad thigh as she waited. He joined in and did the same. But soon, she realized he was spelling a word.

She looked up at him. "What are you confused about?"

Eight seconds. That's how long they stared at each other before they leaned in to each other. She ran her tongue over his lips. He placed his hand on the back of her neck. The kiss was slow at first but quickly became frantic. The sounds of their moans and heavy breathing filled the air. He pulled at her until she had nowhere to go but straddle his lap. She loved this position. The closeness. The urgency. The intensity and eroticism of it. Especially when their bodies had minds of their own and moved against each other. Her denim shirt was unbuttoned, making it easy for Rick to push it off her shoulders. Zero to sixty. This was them in every facet of their relationship. From dating to marriage. Laughter to arguments. She knew where this was headed, until the whistle of the teapot on the stove broke the moment frustrating them both. Or saving them from themselves, however one viewed it.

"Tea," she said as she dabbed at her lips. "Want some?" She didn't wait for an answer. She climbed off his lap and adjusted her shirt.

In the kitchen, she took a moment to take a breath and compose herself. She looked across the room and saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took and released a deep breath. She grabbed another coffee mug from the cupboard then prepared tea for two as she watched Rick seem to go through the thoughts in his head. Taking deep breaths, running his hand though his hair and over his face. All the things she imagined she would do if she wasn't keeping her hands busy.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She hated that they reverted to the same thing — the physical. The looks, the touching, the kissing. That was the easy things for them and it's what she said she would no longer do.

She carried the coffee mugs on a tray and placed it on the coffee table, then put some distance between them when she sat on the couch. The sun wasn't so bad. She could deal with it.

"I feel like I should apologize for what just happened," Rick said.

"No need to apologize. It was mutual, but," she said and sighed. "The back and forth." She shook her head.

"You're right. It has to stop," he said.

"You're hot and cold. One moment you want me and the next you hate me. Or maybe while you're wanting me you're still hating me. And it's not just you. Sometimes I want us to jump back to where we left off before things went bad."

"And other times?" He asked.

She looked over at him, wondering what he saw. She could feel the sadness in her eyes. The other times she wondered if she could have a future with this man sitting next to her. She didn't want to say that out loud for fear he would answer that question for her and it would be an answer she wasn't prepared to hear. Hope. Until the world turned on mankind, she had hope that there would come a day they could make it back to each other. She never imagined it would be easy. It would probably be the hardest thing she'd ever do in her life, but she was willing. Now, sometimes, when he looked at her with hate in his eyes, she wondered if the fight was worth it. If it would end in a win for them.

"I just know that I love you, that I know for sure," she said.

"But love isn't enough."

She nodded. "Love doesn't mean compatible," she whispered.

"Love doesn't solve problems," he said.

"So what _is_ love?"

"More than a feeling," he said. "At least, that's what my grandmother used to say. She said it's not what you feel, it's what you do."

She stood up. "I promised myself I wouldn't allow something like this to happen. I wouldn't fall into bed with you. It's stupid on both our parts but especially mine."

"Why especially yours?"

"Because you don't know what you want."

"Didn't you just say you're confused too?" He looked over at her.

"My doubt is because of you, Rick. I'm scared to want this and have it ripped away once I have it. Because one minute you're reminiscing and smiling and the next…" she sighed. "I don't know when the next time you'll say something hurtful, like I'm not a woman you once loved. Because how can you say hurtful things about, let alone to, the woman you loved?"

He was bent over, supporting his arms on his thighs and his head fell down. "I was angry and hurt."

"Is that all in the past or will it surface?"

"A lot of things, they aren't about you. It's me. I understand your point of view back then. I forgive you. You never have to apologize again. But I don't know if I can do the hardest thing — forgive myself."

She felt a chill down her spine and went back to her tea, feeling the warmth surge through her hands as she held the mug. "Forgive yourself for?"

He took a deep breath and exhaled as he fell back against the back of the couch. He said nothing for a long time and she wanted to tell him to speak but she knew he would when he could.

"Being so cruel. I've never been that person. With my first wife, I always tried to be understanding. She would pick a fight and I'd never engage. She thought I didn't care because I didn't fight. She considered it fighting for us. For her."

She frowned. "So you thought telling me I ruined your son's life was fighting for us? That it would show me you cared?"

"No." He shook his head. "That was me wanting to hurt you as much as you hurt me. And I didn't think me telling you how much I was hurting mattered to you because you had to have known leaving would hurt me and you did it, anyway."

"And staying would have hurt me."

He nodded. "I get that now. I do."

She placed her mug back on the tray. "I need to get going. You can take the mug with you."

He seemed a bit stunned, but he said his issues weren't with her, they were his so they were his to solve. And if he needed a sounding board, she couldn't provide the listening ear. It would be unfair to her. That's not a situation she would put herself in. Helping him get himself together would probably fuck her up in the process.


	13. Life's Too Short

She told herself their intimacy, the touches, would be with intention. No longer would it be to fill the void left by silence or for pure physical pleasure. She and Rick finally got themselves on the same page when it came to their past, and maybe they could even see eye-to-eye on the present, but they were not ready to walk in step into their future, at least not a shared one. And having sex wasn't going to make the decision any easier.

She glanced at herself in the mirror near the door before heading out. Rick was halfway up the stairs to her townhouse.

"Rick?" She scanned the area. "Something wrong?"

"Oh," he said. It was obvious her opening the door threw him off. As if he wasn't prepared to see her, even though he was approaching her door. "I was just coming to… maybe we can talk."

She wasn't sure if anything they said at that moment could be productive. There hadn't been enough time since last they spoke for him to figure out what he wanted and if he could have it with her. She wasn't sure if he could have her in his life the way she wanted and needed to be. The current situation — sex only — wasn't what she wanted, and it wasn't who Rick was. And even if that was something they could handle — it couldn't be with each other. Too much water under the bridge. Too many emotions. Too much love and pain.

Then there was the idea of watching the other be with someone else. That didn't seem an option. Though nothing happened between the two of them, knowing Jessie was attached to Rick irritated the hell out of Michonne. It made sense, Rick saved her. Did what no one else, no other man had been willing to do. And Rick's jealousy didn't go unnoticed when he showed up at her place and saw Walt. Maybe that was another aspect of their relationship that was never good. Their passion and intensity for each other didn't allow for another man or woman to get close without jealousy rearing its ugly head.

She headed down the stairs and past him, but he didn't follow. "Oh, you mean now?"

"You got a hot date or something?" He scanned her from head to toe.

Her appearance warranted a second look. It wasn't every day in the new world she walked around in a gray and white striped cotton dress that flowed down to her feet. It was nothing sexy and very simple, but it felt nice. They weren't out in the wild anymore and always on the run. She enjoyed not wearing the same thing for weeks at a time. She was tired of the jeans and even the leggings she lounged around the house in at night. The wind blew it against her body, showing off her frame, and she caught a shiver. The weather was changing, and soon wearing this dress wouldn't be an option. She had found it on a run months ago and shoved it in her bag. Other than trying it on when she got back, admiring herself in the mirror, longing for normal days gone by, it never saw the light of day. She once believed no occasion warranted a dress like this other than welcome parties for new residents. She decided breathing was justification for almost anything these days.

"No, nothing like that," she said.

Then there was silence because he expected her to tell him more than that. Like why she couldn't talk to him and better yet, what was more important.

"We can meet up tomorrow," she said. When he didn't respond, she kept talking, something she rarely did. "Better yet, we're having what I guess you'd call a department heads meeting tomorrow. I imagine Deanna wants you there. Abraham, Maggie, Deanna, Denise, and Olivia will be there too."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"We can talk after that."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked off, a bit stunned. "I guess so."

She watched as he walked past her and down the street without looking back. His stride was long, and his pace was quick. She never played games with Rick. That was never part of their dynamic. Despite the problems they had, and they were plentiful and intense, playing with each other's emotions was never one of them. What just happened was about setting her boundaries for the first time since he walked back in her life. The look of frustration with a slight side of disappointment on his face didn't make her happy.

Michonne strolled to the other set of townhouses on the opposite side of the community. She enjoyed being outside at night. Seeing the stars, smelling the night jasmine, and feeling the wind on her skin not only felt good, it kept the reality of the dire straits at the forefront of her mind. How could one forget what they were dealing with when you saw the walls, and if you stood close enough to them could hear the walkers? It was possible for the residents who never went near a wall much less outside of them. So walking the community at night, even though Deanna wanted people inside when night fell, was her favorite time. She got to be alone with her thoughts without feeling cooped up. She missed things like going for a drive on a sunny day and ending up wherever her instincts took her.

Walt, like Michonne and like Rick, made some residents nervous when he first arrived so no one had a problem with him living in his own place, a large townhouse four doors down from Deanna's family. Michonne understood him, noticed him and Glenn having a nice chat, and she knew Rick would once he got to know him.

The black door with the gold numbers was ajar, an invitation to enter like Walt always did when expecting her.

"Smells good in here," she called out, closing the door behind her.

"Thanks," Sasha said as she appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She took Michonne in. "You look nice."

"So do you." It was a stupid thing to say since Sasha was in her same blue jeans and black top. It was a rote response like when the person at the Delta counter would tell her to have a safe flight and she would say, "You too." But then again, that full smile did more for her than any fashion makeover could. It was great to see her relaxed.

"What are you cooking?" Michonne asked.

"Black beans and rice. You smell the cumin."

Waltman's place looked different. The first thing Michonne noticed was a candle sitting on the coffee table, which was no longer hidden under stacks of magazines and newspapers. Waltman wasn't a dirty guy, he didn't live by the 'a place for everything and everything in its place' mantra her mother instilled in her. He definitely attempted to tidy up, and it was for Sasha because Michonne had seen the clutter often.

"I didn't know you were coming," Michonne said. A slight smile played on her lips, and she wiggled her eyebrows.

"Stop it," Sasha said with a playful yet stern command. "Just food and a movie with a couple of friends."

Michonne stopped herself from joking about being called Sasha's friend. They had come a long way in a few weeks. Like Walt, and to a certain degree Michonne, Sasha was mostly a loner, but she had her moments like this where she opened up a bit of herself beyond survivor and fighter, but she seemed like the type who was definitely comfortable by herself. Solitude was something more people needed to learn to embrace.

"Hey, the gang's all here," Walt said. He gave Michonne an exaggerated once over before giving her wink and a nod of appreciation for her dress.

"Walt told me about the plans for the crops," Sasha said. "That's great. I know it's a long shot, but if we can get some cows and pigs, we won't have to be out there much if at all." A smile appeared on her face. "Rick was a farmer back at the prison in Georgia."

Michonne frowned. "What?"

"You didn't know about this?" Sasha asked.

"I knew there was a prison and the overall journey of the group," Michonne said. "But not a lot of details."

Sasha sat on a stool at the counter. "He raised pigs. Helped grow some food. Hershel, Maggie's father, helped him." She took a moment, as if to reflect. "I think more than anything it was cathartic. We went through a lot. Those were some hard times. If I think back on it, I can't believe what we went through, how we survived. We came out of it stronger. He was growing food, bringing new life, not destroying anything."

That made sense, and it surprised her that Sasha knew Rick that well when he knew nothing about her. Rick was a healer, fixer, he liked to bring people together. That's why his group rallied around him, followed his lead, and spoke so passionately about him on those tapes. But this world made you do some evil things and just because they were necessary, for the sake of survival, didn't make them less evil. That had to eat at Rick because it went against everything he stood for.

"Food is ready," Sasha called out.

Michonne and Walt joined her in the kitchen, then settled in front of the television. The title credits on the first movie played as the three of them sat on the couch, each with two bowls, one with rice and beans and the other with a small cucumber and tomato salad.

Michonne stifled a moan at the first bite. She couldn't wait for there to be more food. To see what Sasha could do with different vegetables, fruit, and meat. She'd have to see what they could do about finding livestock to raise. Maybe Eric and Aaron could focus on that for a while instead of looking for people. Besides, Rick and his group were already a shock to the community. It was best to let everyone get adjusted to their presence.

"This still seems so strange," Sasha whispered.

Neither Michonne nor Walt rushed to soothe Sasha's feelings. There was nothing to say. After the world fell apart, where the dead walked, and people showed they really were the worst, it was strange to sit in a home watching movies on a couch. That's the toll this new world took on them. It fucked with their minds, and it was abrupt. Not that long ago — maybe a year — this would be so normal it would be boring.

Michonne knew what it was like for Sasha's group. Despite being in Alexandria for months, from time to time she still found it hard to accept that this place was real. The normalcy. The safety. The chance to be something more than a fighter ready for battle every moment of the day. It took being in the community for a month before she could sleep without a nightmare, and it was two months before she could get the knots out of her back and shoulders from being in a constant battle ready position. To this day, she still slept with her sword by her bed and a knife under her mattress.

So tonight wasn't boring, it was a joy, filled with things that both mattered and didn't. Sasha wasn't just a western fan; Michonne learned she was a full-blown cinephile. She checked out two movies from the pantry — _Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?_ and _Written on the Wind_. She gave an unobtrusive almost director's cut commentary for each one. Michonne was thankful to have Carl back in her life. Rick too, whatever may come of that. Maggie was sweet, and so was Glenn. But aside from her family, she was most thankful for Sasha, a woman she knew would be a friend, and in so many ways, a sister.

* * *

They spent so much time looking for walls to live behind that he forgot how stifling it could be. People everywhere you turn, wanting to carry on a conversation about absolutely nothing. Nothing important. Nothing that kept them alive. He was never good with the art of small talk. Now, it seemed even more ridiculous than before to chit chat. The only peace Rick could find, away from people, was outside the walls. Away from ears and eyes that always seemed to be pointed in his direction.

So he wandered aimlessly, and so did his mind on thoughts that always seemed to land on Michonne. Life had always been short, now this life was infinitely so. She could be the last woman he ever loved, and he was wasting time. There was no question he wanted to be with her again. Not just love her silently and in his mind from a distance. He wanted his love to be not just a feeling, but the acts that went with it. Holding her. Kissing her. Laughing in bed with her. Making her feel what only a man who loved her could make her feel, and not just physically but emotionally.

She wasn't the barrier. He wanted to move forward, but he couldn't seem to get his head in the right frame of mind. She once said it felt like he snatched a rug from underneath her when he refused to move from Georgia. He didn't want to do that again. She didn't deserve for him to enter this relationship half-assed and unprepared only to run away because he wasn't ready. He was protecting his heart, but he was protecting hers. He couldn't fail her again.

Once he returned to the community, it was like he never left. It was like people were continuing conversations. He was barely inside the gate.

"Oh, there he is," a redhead said, a brunette beside her.

"Rick, do you think we might build some kind of playground for the kids," she asked. He couldn't remember her name.

The brunette nodded her head. "They need something to do to burn their energy besides just running around. They're starting to get into things. Get curious."

"I'm sure we can come up with something," Rick said as he kept walking, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation about jungle gyms and swings. Couldn't they ask Deanna about something like that?

He heard the clicking sound signifying the guard locked the gate and picked up his pace.

"Rick," he heard calling out from his right, but he kept going. "Rick," this time it was said much louder. He couldn't ignore it.

He turned to see Olivia running his way. He stopped and waited for her. She was nervous. He knew he did that to some of these people. It couldn't be helped. He knew things. Did things. He couldn't pretend otherwise. It changed his DNA. Everything about him, from the way he saw things — threats where they saw none — to how he handled things, with a finality.

"You needed something?" He prompted her.

"Did you happen to take another weapon you forgot to sign out?" Her voice was just above a whisper. She kept a distance between them.

"What?" He frowned, cocking his head slightly to the right.

"It's just that after… once the guns were returned Deanna wanted them counted and accounted for at all times." She looked around, eyes darting in every direction, anywhere but on him. "Including your group's weapons, I knew the count should be eighty-seven. I never kept a count from day to day or worry about it too much because we never had a problem until…"

Until they arrived is what she was about to say.

"I only have this one," he said as he touched the Colt Python on his hip.

"That one is accounted for and so are the ones out with the guards but there's one missing."

It made sense he would be the likely candidate for a missing gun. No one else knew about Carol's part in stealing the weapons, that she was the one who stole them. He assumed she had it.

"I'll ask around. Search, maybe it was misplaced."

"No, it's not misplaced," she said. It was the first time she showed in emotion around him beyond nervousness and contempt. He questioned her ability to do her job. Clerical people could be that way. Like Loretta back at the sheriff's department, all she had was paperwork, and she was anal about it. A deputy made one mistake on a report and she was ready to ream your ass like you messed up in the field and got someone killed.

"Right. Of course. Maybe some amnesty program where the missing gun shows up no questions asked. I'll get with Deanna about it. See how she wants to handle it."

She nodded and walked off. He looked around to see if there was anyone else headed his way. When he made it to his house Carol was sitting on the porch, rocking back and forth, watching him as he ascended the steps. She had a look about her that told him he wouldn't be able to walk inside with just a nod. She looked as if she had something to say.

"You're married to Michonne?"

He took a deep breath. "The short, uncomplicated answer is yes." He wasn't interested in giving the details of the separation and the divorce papers in the mail.

"You think it's a coincidence her group comes across us, you, and wants us to live here?" She took a sip of what appeared to be lemonade from a Mason jar.

"Obviously, you don't think it's a coincidence," he replied.

"No, Rick. I don't."

"So, you don't trust Aaron?"

"There was a time when you didn't."

He could argue that Michonne didn't know he was part of the group. That even if Aaron scouted them and went back and told the community he saw a potential new members, there was no way for him to describe Rick in a way that she would know that her husband, who last time she saw him was clean-shaven, was the same man with the wild beard five hundred miles from where he lived. But Michonne being his wife didn't pose a risk to the group, so he saw no need to explain it, defend it, or gain Carol's acceptance.

"How did you even meet her? It doesn't seem like you two would have anything in common."

He always wondered the same about her and Ed. Difference was, he kept his thoughts to himself, something Carol would have done in the past. Here she was, no greeting, just right to the point demanding more than what she had a right to know. This was not the Carol he met, and while she was a definite asset to the group's survival, he wasn't sure he liked this version of her. If he was being honest, it had been a while since he felt a kinship with her. He hated that. He didn't want it to be that way. They were better than that, or should be.

His relationship with Carol was fractured. He had no relationship of value with Rosita, Eugene, and Tara. The relationship he started to develop with Sasha was because of Michonne. He wondered if the rest of them felt this way. Or maybe they didn't give a shit about relationships, just survival. Maybe he was already getting soft in this place.

She stopped the swing by planting her feet on the ground. "I can tell you still love her. She'll use that against you."

"Like you use our friendship to your advantage?" Rick asked. "Yeah Carol. You think it's only manipulation when you do it to them?"

It expected her to say something, to deny it, to defend herself or at least demand clarification or a retraction, but she simply looked straight ahead.

"Look, I don't know what you have against her other than the fact that she saw through your act. Or is there something I don't know? Something go down between you two?"

"Nothing."

"So why do you feel so threatened by her?"

"These people—"

"Yeah, these people. I see your distaste for Deanna, but it's more than that with Michonne. There is hostility toward Michonne. Look, I get it. Everything you think and feel and fear. I agree with a lot of it, but these people are coming around. Fast. Deanna is implementing everything we've suggested, and Michonne isn't stopping her. She's backing me up. Every time. Let it go. She's good people."

She didn't respond. Didn't even appear to think about what he said. She went into the house. There was enough on his mind with the community and his relationship with Michonne and making sure that relationship didn't harm Carl. He didn't have room for this dynamic with Carol where he felt like he needed to choose between his friend, the woman who repeatedly saved his life in this world, and his wife from the past world.

He watched as Jessie was about to walk past him and not say a word. "Jessie." She kept walking.

"Jessie."

She stopped, but she said nothing. Didn't bother to turn her head in his direction. She stood there like a pissed off teenager.

"Jessie."

She turned and looked at him.

"What's he doing there?" Rick asked as he watched Pete about to enter the Anderson home with a smiling Sam. It was one of the nicest homes in the community. Socialism didn't make everyone equal — at least not the leader and the surgeon. All the homes were nice, but some were bigger and more grand than others.

She looked over toward her home and quickly stepped against the porch, out of view.

"I guess everyone is getting back together," she said.

"He's back with you and your boys?"

"He's my husband and their father."

"He beat you and things didn't get better, so why let him come back?"

He knew things weren't better because men like Pete never changed, but she was also nervous about him seeing her talking to him. It wasn't a surprise to him, but it was disappointing all the same.

"What did you mean by everyone is getting back together?" He asked.

"You and Michonne."

"Me and Michonne?" He had to assume everyone knew, which wasn't a good thing considering he and Michonne hadn't figured themselves out yet. He didn't need the added pressure or anymore opinions. Carl and Glenn were enough.

"You're married. It makes sense why she didn't want me to talk to you."

He frowned. He wanted to know more, but he didn't want to hear it from her. That felt as if giving her some kind of upper hand against Michonne. Like by asking Jessie to explain Michonne's actions, it was betraying Michonne. Whatever issues he and Michonne had, he still felt the need to defend her, to have a united front against others.

"You don't have to worry about me anymore, Rick. I can take care of myself."

She couldn't. He knew that and so did she. They were behind walls. They had food. They were no longer in a capitalist world that often trapped women in abusive relationships. But there she was, letting him back in her home to provide what?

"Jessie, I," he said, then stopped. He took a breath and let it out. He was frustrated, and this wasn't a conversation to be had on a whim. "I don't think it's a good idea to let Pete back in your home."

"It doesn't matter what you think. It's not your decision to make."

"You're right," he said, lifting his hands in front of him as if to signal defeat.

This, tension and grudges in small spaces, was not good for the community. You couldn't avoid having to work with someone, eventually. And this is exactly what he didn't want for him and Michonne. They needed a resolution.

* * *

It was official, everyone knew Rick and Michonne were married which made it awkward since they weren't even together. They became the center of attention — Alexandria's very own reality show. Everyone wanted the details of how they came to be separated when the world changed. Carl's explanation was technically right — Michonne was working in D.C. and couldn't get back to Georgia. People wanted to know what it was like to see each other for the first time. Did Rick know Michonne was in Alexandria? Did Michonne know Aaron was bringing them back to the community? And the less than subtle ones wanted to know why hadn't Rick and Carl moved in with Michonne and when would that happen.

The strangest reaction had to be the jealousy or anger or whatever it was from some women, especially the single ones, because who was Michonne to have some kind of happy ending in a world like this. In a world like this where people fall apart, where people come up short and disappoint, where people lose love, no one experienced something as epic as finding a lost love. When it was all said and done, through bad people, dead people, and the elements, Rick crossed over five hundred miles and found the woman he loved and they weren't laid up in bed every opportunity.

Everywhere she went eyes were on her and when she and Rick were within ten feet of each other the attention was even more intense. Being in a relationship seen through everyone else's eyes seemed to have a weird effect on Rick. She wasn't sure he realized it, but he played into it. He didn't hold her hand or kiss her, but the energy between them changed. It was calmer. There was less anxiety.

But none of them knew the truth of who and what Rick and Michonne were. She was thankful for that. Because it was hard enough being in some state of limbo and confusion without other people's opinions and advice. Even if they knew the story, they didn't know their history, their feelings, doubts, insecurities that painted an eclectic, colorful portrait of two people who loved each other more than the other even knew.

She walked down the main street of the community. It was the middle of the day and most people were working, but her only concern was for the people who lived in Rick's house. Carol was in the pantry cooking, Rick was inspecting the walls, and Daryl was out with Aaron, so Michonne visited Carl. While he didn't have a problem spreading the news about her marriage to his father, he wasn't exactly communicating with her. He wasn't avoiding her, but for a kid who only went to school half a day, he seemed to keep himself busy.

In her periphery she could see someone walking toward her at a quick clip, but she kept her eyes forward and her feet moving.

"Michonne, hi," Denise said as she practically jogged the last few steps to catch up.

"Denise," Michonne said.

They walked in silence and she realized they were getting closer to Rick's house, so Michonne halted. Denise took a few steps before she realized Michonne wasn't still moving. She awkwardly walked back to Michonne while pushing her glasses up on her face.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Michonne asked.

"Actually, I think there's something I can do for you. I imagine after so much time apart there's an adjustment period for you and Rick," Denise said. "It makes sense you haven't moved back in together. That's smart, actually. All the things you've seen and gone through while apart profoundly changes a person. Even a regular separation under normal circumstances requires a lot of work to get back on the same page."

Michonne nodded just enough to acknowledge Denise's comments so as not to be rude while trying to look disinterested so Denise wouldn't feel encouraged. She took in the community. There was a buzz about the new crop fields and rumors Eugene and Mrs. Niedermeyer wanted to make cheese once the community found a cow or even a goat. It had been a while since there was something to get excited about. Safety and walls no longer did it for them. The thought of fresh fruits, vegetables, and cheese gave people something to talk about other than each other. She had to admit, she wouldn't mind a goat cheese omelet. She suppressed a smile. A little of Sasha's cooking and now she's thinking about food all the time.

Denise smiled. "You know, therapy is my jam. I can really help you," she said. The eagerness on her face and the way she was breathing from her slightly opened mouth made her look like an excited overgrown puppy.

Michonne shook her head. She was sympathetic to Denise's situation. She needed something to do now that Pete was back to being the primary doctor in the community, but Michonne didn't feel comfortable with someone who said therapy was her jam and Rick didn't feel comfortable with marriage counseling period.

"Think about it. I've been talking to Deanna about some things." She stopped when she saw Michonne frown. "Not you. Maybe doing some kind of therapy for everyone. Group and individual. We've all experienced a lot of traumas. In normal times we'd all be in therapy."

"Yeah," Michonne said. "In normal times. But now, this," she said as she waved her arm around. "This is the new normal."

Actually, Alexandria didn't seem to be the norm these days. Running from place to place, always hungry, in search of shelter and protection, that seemed to be normal, and out there no one had time for therapy. This community had walls, food, beds, showers — peace of mind seemed to be an embarrassment of riches.

Denise shook her head. "No, we can't accept that this is normal and that it's not messing with our health — mentally and physically." She talked with her hands. "Almost every day we see or hear something that eats at the soul, makes us question ourselves and humanity."

"I agree some people need it, but you can't make people go to therapy."

"No, but we can encourage it."

"Well, I need to get going."

"Don't forget, you and Rick," she called out.

Michonne looked around, but no one was near.

Denise made a show of zipping her lips, but she kept talking, this time at a lower decibel. "Whenever you're ready," she said as she backed away while smiling at Michonne.

Michonne took a deep breath with a shake of her head, trying to clear Denise's full-court press. She wasn't opposed to therapy, it just wasn't something she had ever needed in her life. That one time she and Rick went because they were both desperate to save their marriage, didn't enlighten her, nor did it help them. Maybe you needed to go more than once, or it was like running one lap around the track and expecting to lose ten pounds.

When she turned the corner, she saw Carl climbing the stairs to the house.

"Carl," she called out.

He turned and looked in her direction. His face didn't automatically light up with a smile like usual. He stopped and waited for her. One foot on one step, the other foot on another step. In that moment, his hands on his hips, he looked like his father.

"Hi," she said as she stood at the foot of the stairs.

"Hey."

"I thought you and I could hang. That is, if you don't have plans. I checked out _Iron Man_ and _Batman Begins_ instant classics _._ "

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"What have you been up to?" She climbed the stairs past him and leaned on the rail close to him so she could look directly at him and he couldn't avoid her.

"Nothing." He climbed the rest of the stairs and leaned on the rail on the other side of the stairs, putting some distance between them.

"Carl, what's wrong?"

"What did you do to him?" For the first time, he looked at her. Directly into her eyes. "Why does he hate you so much?"

His question took her by surprise, and so did the intensity. The penetrating glare, the furrowed brow.

"I've been thinking, there has to be something you aren't telling me."

"Your dad is hurt and so am I but we don't hate each other."

"I thought when people knew it would mean no more hiding."

"Is that why you told everyone? Did you think that would push us together?" She was expecting an answer, but he didn't respond. "This isn't an easy process, but I want you to know that we are better than when you guys first arrived. Much better."

"So why aren't you together?"

"We've all been apart for a while. It takes time. But Carl, it's not a foregone conclusion that we'll be together again."

Even though she had made it painfully clear to Rick, maybe even embarrassingly so, that she wanted a reconciliation and she knew he still loved her, their marriage was proof that love wasn't always enough.

"Who else are you going to be with?" He frowned. "You going to go out on a date with the like five people here? Go out and search for people when someone you love is right here? It has to be something. It doesn't make sense. What's going on?"

The reunion meant more to Carl than she realized. This was taking a toll on Carl in ways she didn't know. Of course, it mattered, but it's not like they were living in different places. She wasn't across town or across the country. They were a minute-walk away from each other. He could see her anytime he wanted.

"Carl," she shook her head. "I appreciate that you're invested in this. Since you've been here, we've tried to be honest and tell you what happened, but some things are between your father and me."

"It's my family, too." He was becoming upset.

The screen door opened, and they both turned to see Rick step out onto the porch. "But it's our relationship."

She wondered how long he was there and what had he heard. She remained silent because she hoped Rick would say more.

"Is there a relationship?" Carl asked.

That was an answer she wanted to know, but she knew Rick couldn't answer it because it didn't know either. This felt like their life now — uncertainty. It was a painful state of being for someone like her who had her life planned out from the first time she heard the phrase five-year plan as a kid.

"It's something we need to figure out for ourselves," he said as he looked at Michonne. After a while he turned his attention to Carl. "But when we do, you'll be the first to know."

Carl rolled his eyes. "This is bullshit," he muttered.

"Son, get it together," Rick said in a low but firm voice. He never tolerated Carl stepping outside of a child's place. But at his age, in this world, it almost felt unfair to think of him as a child.

Carl looked at Rick as if he had been betrayed then he ran off, skipping the stairs and jumping onto the lawn.

"Carl," Rick called out after him.

"Let him go, Rick. He's still a kid. It's confusing for him. Has to be."

Between the things Carl saw and did before he arrived in Alexandria to his sage words since he arrived, it was sometimes easy to forget. No matter what this world threw at Carl, there were still things, like matters of the heart and adult relationships, that this world couldn't prepare him for. This world only taught kids about death, pain, and hard choices.

"This is probably my fault," Rick said.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Blame yourself for everything." She looked down. "When you do that it makes it easier for other people to blame you."

He stared her, and she knew that he never thought about that.

"We talked last night," Rick said. "I told him I'm still… he's confused. He thinks every decision is easy. I suppose it is when you only focus on the moment and you aren't old enough to understand how decisions have unintended consequences, even when you have the best intentions." He looked over at her. "I want to put this all behind us and move forward."

When she looked at him she saw the earnestness on his face, the vulnerability in his voice. She walked over and stood before him. "I have an idea. You won't like it, but it may help us. Carl too."


	14. In Treatment

Rick avoided marriage counseling for two weeks, which was a minor miracle considering Michonne wouldn't let it rest. He thought he and Michonne would need counseling to get beyond the constant fights about going to counseling. It wasn't just about them. His son had become collateral damage to their inability to decide. Carl still wasn't talking to him, and Rick wanted to give his son what he wanted — his reunited family — but Rick felt like there was something holding him back from deciding about his marriage. So here he was with Michonne sitting in Denise's house preparing to have every word he said and didn't say dissected.

It was late at night. That was the only time he wasn't on people's radar. Where they weren't asking his opinion on something, seeking his approval, or wanting him to resolve something. You'd think this community wasn't running before he arrived. Hell, he still wasn't sure how he came to lead his group. That decision was made for him by the others. Seemed like he looked up one day and he was in charge with everyone looking to him for the answers.

To prevent any guests, the lights were off and the room was lit by a few candles. There was a carafe filled with water and two glasses sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Denise sat in an armchair across from them, a notepad and a pen in her hands. She wore a pair of slacks and a light blue blouse. He could see her dressed this way for a counseling session in the past life. Now, dressing like this seemed silly.

"Is the room too cold?" Denise asked.

"No, it's fine," Michonne answered.

When he didn't respond, Denise looked at him and waited for his response — he shook his head.

"I want you to know this is a conversation, not an interrogation," Denise said. "There are no wrong answers."

That's what she said now. But when he couldn't give the right answer for why he wasn't ready to be with Michonne again, then that's when he'd get raked over the coals. Told he wasn't in touch with his feelings. That he needed to make more of an effort.

"I think there's something you should know first," Michonne said. "About us."

Denise nodded. "Okay."

He could feel Michonne looking at him, but he kept his eyes focused on the gray and white area rug under the coffee table.

"The story that's going around, that I was basically on a business trip and that's how I was separated from my family," Michonne said.

"That's not the case?" Denise asked.

"No. I wasn't on a business trip," Michonne said. "I was living in D.C. while Rick and Carl were back in Georgia. We were separated."

He hated hearing that word. Separated. He hated what it meant. Whenever thought about their separation, it took him back to that time. The feelings always rushed back. The anger, the tears, the disappointment, the guilt. The broken mirror in their bathroom he punched mere feet from her when she finally told them, though he knew she'd been planning it for weeks.

"Why were you separated?" Denise asked. "Rick?"

He felt it only fair for Michonne to answer that question since she offered the information and she did the separating.

"I don't know," he mumbled.

And he knew what Michonne said about losing herself but his answer still felt like the truth. He knew that he hated change and resented her for thinking what he provided, what they were, wasn't enough. That feeling of inadequacy extinguished his self-esteem. He knew he shut down. But did it have to end the way it did? He didn't think so. When he looked up at Denise, she was staring at him, expectantly.

He took a deep breath, exhaling so loud it was the only sound in the room. "I thought we wanted the same things but I guess we didn't."

"A marriage needs check-ins from time to time to recalibrate."

Rick frowned. "What?"

"People change. Situations change. Values. Wants and needs change," Denise said. "Share yours with your partner and you have to listen when they tell you theirs."

He sighed. "This all sounds like some cliche self-help stuff."

"A cliche is good advice said over and over. And the reason it's said repeatedly is that we don't listen." Denise cleared her throat. "What changed for you, Rick?"

"Nothing. I was happy."

He didn't mean to emphasize 'I' and it made it seem as if she wasn't happy. But that was the truth, wasn't it? She wasn't happy.

"Okay," Denise said. "Michonne, how about you?"

For the first time since they arrived, he looked at her. She sat up straighter. But that didn't last long. By the time she started speaking, she seemed to have retreated into herself.

"Well, I became stagnant in my career. It wasn't fulfilling. There were other opportunities, and I wanted to explore them."

"Did those opportunities have to be in Washington?" Denise asked.

"No."

"Then why did you choose Washington?"

He shifted toward her. He wanted to know that too. The offers were plenty, some in the South, but she went to Washington, D.C. Far from home.

"I had turned down other places before that. We agreed to leave."

"No," Rick said.

"Rick," Denise tried to stop him. "let her finish."

"Not to just leave," Rick said. "If something came along that she couldn't pass up and we both agreed on the place." He shook his head. "But we didn't agree to leave. She went looking to leave. There's a difference."

"Michonne, finish what you were saying." Denise nodded at her.

"I felt desperate at that moment to take the position in Washington. I didn't want to turn it down and then not get another opportunity."

Desperate. She was desperate to leave. How miserable was she, he wondered?

"Why were you so desperate to leave?"

Michonne shifted, her hands running up and down her thighs. He could tell she was uncomfortable. It was a rare sight.

"Maybe," she said before stopping and taking and exhaling another deep breath. "Desperate isn't a good choice of words."

"Rick is listening," Denise said. "Tell him how you felt."

"I didn't feel like I mattered at home after some time," Michonne said. "And so the only thing I had was my career. My career had always meant everything to me, so when it felt like that's all I had again," she said as she shrugged. "I didn't want to fail at that, too."

Rick held his head down and shook it. "Fail," he whispered.

"What is it about that word — fail — that you connect with, Rick?"

Both women watched him as he contemplated being as open as Michonne had been.

"My first marriage failed."

"I thought she passed away," Denise said.

"She did. But it failed long before she got sick." He glanced at Michonne before turning his head up slightly toward the ceiling and closing his eyes. "And I sort of felt like everything depended on our marriage working. Me as a man, husband, father, and if it didn't work, it said everything about me. That I was a failure. Another marriage that didn't work, and I was the common factor."

He felt a shift in the couch and opened his eyes to see that Michonne had slid toward him, just a little. She shook her head and slid her hand across the couch toward him, but stopped before she reached his hand. He watched their hands, so close and fingers twitching but not touching, not close enough. Neither making that final effort to connect.

"You know when you move into a new home," Denise said. "You get all the day-to-day things put away. The things you think are the most important. But there are always some boxes we don't unpack. In those boxes in the attic or basement that never get unpacked is stuff that matters, but when it's packed away, you forgot what it meant to you. In a marriage, the stuff in the box is the stuff left unsaid." She looked between Rick and Michonne. "So, let's unpack some of those things. Rick, that seems like something that was packed away for a while. Thank you for sharing that."

He felt sick.

"Michonne, you came to D.C. for a career opportunity, but what was in that unpacked box along with that?"

"We, Rick and I, talked about this," Michonne said.

The only person who had a harder time with being vulnerable than him was Michonne.

"I don't think we need this," Rick said. "We've been doing a good job of communicating on our own."

Denise stared at him. This was a Denise he didn't recognize. She was stoic and gone was the nervous laughter and trembling hands. She actually felt intimidating. Most people, when asking hard questions, tried to put a person at ease, make a joke, be light-hearted, but Denise was to the point. No smile. No concessions.

"Since we've been here, in Alexandria, we've been talking," he said, his voice barely audible.

"But you're still struggling," Denise said.

"I was getting smaller and smaller in a life that already had no room for me," Michonne said.

Hearing her say it, even though he had heard it before, even though in some ways he agreed, was a punch in the gut for Rick. It made him sound like an asshole. It made him feel like an asshole. He was a fucking asshole to the woman he loved, to the woman he once called the love of his life. The woman who was supposed to be end game. Maybe have a kid of their own. He used to imagine all the different possibilities of what their kid would look like.

Denise looked at Rick. "Is that true, Rick? Was there little room for Michonne to be herself in your life?"

He wanted to say no and for it to be true. He wanted to be a good guy who wouldn't make his wife feel small and unimportant, but that wouldn't be the truth. "Yes."

"Why is that?" Denise asked as she wrote something in her notebook.

"So much had changed," he said. "The people who were helping me with Carl after his mom died talked about giving him as much stability as possible. It had been years by the time I met Michonne, but I didn't want to change his life anymore. Dating someone and marrying her was a lot of change, and he had some hard times with that."

He heard a slight gasp from Michonne. He cringed at how callous his comment was. Carl's initial struggles with their relationship was something he never shared with her. He never meant for her to know since she and Carl became so close, but this definitely was not the way for her to find out.

"But he loved her, still does, and they were like the best of friends." He needed her to know that. He didn't want her doubting the true bond she and Carl developed.

"Michonne, when did things first go bad for you in the marriage?" Denise asked.

"What?" Michonne asked.

"How long had things been bad between you and Rick before you started looking for another job?"

Rick turned his head and stared at Michonne. Truly faced her because he wasn't sure he ever asked her this question and he was very much interested in the answer.

"It wasn't like that," Michonne stuttered.

"You said you felt like there came a point when all you had was your career," Denise said. "So when did you stop feeling like home wasn't making you happy anymore?"

"I… I don't know. I just looked around, and it wasn't. Nothing was," she said and then stopped.

"Take your time," Denise said.

"I just felt out of place," Michonne said. "I'd go in the kitchen and nothing was where I wanted it to be. One time I mentioned changing something, where the plates could be and Rick said 'that's where we've always kept them' and I knew who we was and it wasn't me."

He rolled his eyes. "They were just plates."

"It was more than the plates," Michonne said.

"What else, Michonne?"

"I didn't share all the parts of me. I was more than the ambitious woman with the degrees and nice office and designer clothes."

"Like what?" Denise asked.

"There was pain, insecurities. I never felt I could be," she said and stopped. "I never allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of him. I wasn't sure he wanted to be bothered with someone like that."

"So you decided to be the fun, carefree woman for your husband?" Denise asked. "Why did you think that was the way to go?"

"He talked about his first wife and he always made her seem so needy for asking questions I thought were reasonable. Questions that I had too."

He looked over and locked eyes with Denise.

"What do you think about that, Rick?"

"I don't know," he said. He wasn't sure what to say, and he was afraid what may come out of his mouth would do more damage. Most times in his marriages, his default position was defensive.

"Okay. Well, when did things change in the marriage for you, Rick?" Denise asked.

"When we fought. It went from perfect to fighting."

"Was it perfect?" Denise asked. "Or perfect for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I guess I'm supposed to say perfect for me."

Denise shook her head. "You're supposed to be honest."

Despite what she said, he knew the answer he was supposed to say and there was no need to argue the point. "We just seemed to fight all the time and the only time we weren't fighting is when we weren't talking to each other."

"What did you fight about?"

"Felt like one day she just started talking about leaving, moving from the only town my boy had ever known. Away from his family. And then everything became a fight. What to have for dinner. My boots on the floor where I always left them. Laundry. Grocery shopping. My friends. The town. Her work hours. She spent a weekend in a hotel near her office. She said it was because there was so much work, but we didn't live far enough for her to not come home."

"Why do you think she stayed in a hotel?" Denise asked.

"I guess she needed space," he said.

Part of him knew that even back then, but then there were the other thoughts. It was one of the worst weekends of his life. Fighting the urge to find her. He had never been a jealous man, not even with his first wife. But with Michonne, it was different. He remembered that weekend, wondering if she was spending it with another man. He couldn't sleep and was thankful Carl had spent that weekend with a friend so his son didn't have to see him losing his mind. When she came home Sunday afternoon they didn't talk, they just had sex. Angry, wordless sex.

"Rick, what do you want to tell Michonne?"

He ran his hands up and down his thighs.

"I want her to be happy. I don't want her to get hurt."

"Michonne, what do you have to say to that?"

"I'm not scared of getting hurt. It hurt being without you. I'm putting it out there, I want us to try again. You know how I feel. I respect you have your own timetable and that just because I'm ready doesn't mean you are. But how I feel now doesn't mean I'll always be available."

She would move on without him. He spent so much time in Georgia thinking just how long did it take for her to move on with someone else when she was in Washington. If he had to see it, here in this confined space, he wasn't so sure he wouldn't break the guy's jaw and knock the guy's teeth down his throat. The first guy he thought about was Waltman. He was always around her, always feeling comfortable being close to her, even though he knew Michonne was his wife.

Michonne yawned, and it caused Denise to yawn. It had been a long night.

"Sometimes," Denise said. "A reunion isn't the right resolution for a couple. Sometimes the end is a lesson learned to make you better for the next person in your life."

Rick and Michonne stiffened at that. There was no next person. He never imagined — not even after she left Georgia and not after he filed for divorce — another person. Kissing another woman. The bluntness with which Denise asked questions and said things unnerved Rick, but that comment was the hardest to hear.

"This was a great start," Denise said.

"Start?" Rick asked.

"We've made some progress," she said as she looked at her wristwatch. "It's two-thirty. I think we can all use some sleep. I want to build on the progress we made. We'll schedule that later."

They all stood up, and Denise walked them to the door. Rick extended his arm but didn't look at Michonne as he waited for her to walk through the door first. Denise closed the door and left them on the porch alone. He wasn't sure what to do next, but he wasn't ready to leave her. What was she thinking about the things they admitted in there?

"Thank you for coming," Michonne said.

"No need to thank me."

He wasn't sure if they took one step forward or two steps back. Some of what was said were things he heard already, but hearing it tonight with an open mind and an emotional heart made him receive things differently. So it felt new, and he was raw. And then there were things he hadn't heard before, not from her and not even from himself.

"We better get some sleep," he said.

She nodded. "Yeah. I can barely keep my eyes open."

As he walked past her, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. He kept touching her, letting his fingers slide down her arm as he walked away, feeling some kind of way when he could no longer feel her.

* * *

It had been three days since Michonne and Rick had their session with Denise. Michonne wanted the counseling, was persistent, not giving up until Rick agreed, but even she wasn't prepared for it. And she wasn't ready for round two. It was emotional to admit feelings she had never expressed and to hear things from Rick she had never heard. Every time she talked she was sure she sounded like an asshole, unworthy of another chance with Rick. She hated seeing his awkwardness and vulnerability and not being able to wrap her arms around him and hold him. In their marriage, she was more comfortable doing the comforting than receiving it. That one session with Denise made her realize, more than ever, had they just communicated, truly communicated, they never would have split.

Fortunately, Denise didn't want to have another couples session just yet. Unfortunately, that meant Michonne was the center of attention as she sat on that same couch she and Rick sat on while Denise was in her same chair across from her for a one-on-one session. The room was quiet. Was it this quiet the last time she was here, she wondered?

"How have you been since the last time we talked?" Denise asked.

"I've had better days." She told the truth because what was the point in being there if she didn't.

Denise nodded with a slight smile. "Sharing our truth can be emotionally taxing."

Michonne wasn't sure if Denise expected her to respond, so she nodded.

"Ready to get started?" Denise asked.

No, she thought. But she simply nodded her head.

"I want to talk about something you brought up last time," Denise said. She picked up the black moleskin notebook from the table beside her.

Notes, she had notes. Michonne remembered her writing a few things in her notebook that night. She stole a glance at the notebook as Denise flipped through the pages, and she wondered if all those notes were about her and Rick. Did they say so many problematic things Denise had to fill pages worth of notes? Was their marriage hopeless? Was therapy a waste of time?

"Okay, what?"

Denise looked up and smiled. "And remember, there are no wrong answers or feelings." Once Michonne nodded, she continued. "I want to talk about how you didn't show Rick your true self."

It felt horrible when Denise said it. Like Rick was the one who deserved sympathy and not Michonne. Like not showing her true self, as Denise put it, didn't hurt her just as much, if not more, than it did Rick.

She shrugged. "Like I said, I could tell from some things he said about his first wife that heavy emotional things weren't high on his list of things to talk about."

They talked about her career, the crazy things he saw from day to day as a deputy, they talked about Carl; they talked about her past; they talked about politics and the weather for fuck's sake. But feelings — deep and messy ones — was something neither wanted to dig into.

"Well, the conversations someone will have is just as much about the other person, in this case his first wife, as it is Rick. Different couples have different dynamics. What a person couldn't handle discussing with one person, doesn't mean they are incapable or unwilling to have it with another. We all have our own communication languages. I don't want to spend time speaking on theirs, but maybe it differed from the language you and Rick share."

"I guess," Michonne muttered. But it didn't seem likely because they crashed and burned too.

"No, it's true. Not a guess. How long did you think your marriage could last, that you could be emotionally happy and in a supportive relationship while hiding your feelings?"

"Obviously, I didn't think about it like that. I didn't think it would be a big deal, the things I didn't share. It was more important…"

"What was more important?"

"It was more important for everything to go well. I didn't want the honeymoon to end. I was happy, and in love with someone who made me feel things I had never felt. Who made me comfortable enough to say and feel things I'd never felt before."

"But not everything." Denise said. "What were some of those things he didn't make you feel comfortable enough to share?"

Michonne frowned. "It wasn't his fault."

"I didn't mean it that way. Besides living in the home he shared with his first wife, what made you feel uncomfortable in your marriage?"

She shrugged and looked out the window and glimpsed Jessie and Barbara talking and smiling. "I was so unlike all the women in his life. I was nothing like his mother, his grandmother, his sister-in-law, the first wife, the neighbors, his friends' wives, the single women who wanted to be Mrs. Rick Grimes 2.0."

"But he chose you. He asked you to marry him. You don't think that was proof he loved you?"

She frowned slightly and looked at Denise. "I know Rick loved me. I just…" She turned her attention back to the window.

"What?"

"Sometimes it just felt like he loved me despite what he was used to." Sometimes she felt like she was Rick's wild rebel phase. Someone to have some carnal fun with once he stopped mourning the death of his first wife and before he moved on to marry someone who wore sun dresses and cooked him chicken-fried steak and redeye gravy just like his mama. "I was never going to be the King County housewife."

"So you focused on being that kick ass big-time lawyer."

"I focused on being a wife and a step-mom too. They weren't some afterthought."

"In what ways were you different from the women in Rick's life?"

Michonne gave Denise her best deadpan expression.

Denise smiled. "What other ways?"

"The women always wanted to be taken care of. Damsels in distress types."

"You never wanted anyone to care for you?"

"I always made my own money. I made more than Rick." More than any man she ever dated.

"It's not just about finances. What about having someone comfort you, stand up for you, listen to you?"

"Sure, those things."

"Besides you being unhappy about where you lived, what else was a point of contention?"

"Once, his best friend sent him a text with the phone number of some woman who wanted to hook up with Rick. We had been married for three weeks."

Women did that all the time. They managed to be intimidated by her and disrespectful of her marriage at the same time. If she and Rick were briefly apart during a trip to the grocery store or even out to dinner or a movie, it took all of thirty seconds for some woman to get in his face smiling and batting her eyelashes, placing her hand on her chest and bringing attention to her cleavage.

"Why were you reading Rick's text messages?"

She frowned. "That's not the point of the story."

"But it is a point."

Michonne looked out the window again. The last time she was here it wasn't easy, but it didn't feel this critical.

"Did you accidentally read it?"

"No. I was looking for something and hoping that I wouldn't find it."

"You thought he was being unfaithful?"

"I don't know. I had no reason to think that based on anything he had done. Maybe it was the fact that he was best friends with a serial cheating misogynist. I mean, wouldn't he have some of the same traits?"

Michonne hated Shane. She tried to like him; he was her husband's best friend. She ignored her instincts for a while. Swallowed the shit she wanted to say to him and about him. When someone makes you the butt of their joke, no matter how tame, within two minutes of meeting, they are most likely an asshole. That Shane carried a gun for a living made her fear for humanity back then. In this world, she was certain he was not someone you wanted around. Her heart wouldn't allow her to wish any harm to him, but she was glad he wasn't with Rick and Carl when they arrived at Alexandria.

"Did he?" Denise asked.

"What?"

"Have some of those traits as his friend?"

She picked at one of her fingernails. "He did not. He was kind and warm," she rolled her eyes, "except when he wasn't. But I think that was because of the things he was going through, not because he was being cruel."

"Why do you always have an excuse for Rick's shortcomings?"

"It's not an excuse. He's a good man."

"You can be a good person and not be the best intimate partner."

"He is a good man. In all ways." Michonne shook her head. "Just because he's not perfect doesn't mean he's not good."

"It makes me wonder why you left him at all. Do you think you needed to leave Atlanta to be happy professionally?"

Michonne played with her necklace, sliding the small M back and forth along the necklace. "I did back then."

"Leaving wasn't out of spite? To hurt him?"

Her head snapped up, and she glared at Denise, feeling her chest heaving. "Of course not."

This wasn't why she was here, to be treated like the enemy. She beat herself up enough. And so do Rick. She didn't need Denise joining in.

"Maybe you were just tired living on Rick's turf."

"It wasn't just Rick's turf. Atlanta was my home too. King County was just a little farther out."

"If you moved into your own home, one that he didn't share with his first wife, do you think you would have wanted to leave?"

"I don't know."

"The possibility of you leaving, was it an ultimatum? Were you asking him to choose between you and his dead wife?"

There was no need to ask what she already knew the answer to. Hearing the answer would have been ten times worse than simply knowing it. And maybe it wasn't about his first wife, about him preferring a marriage with her over Michonne, but it was about something that Michonne could never be and the shared experience she'd never have with him.

"Did you ask him before you married?" Denise asked.

"No." She had thought about little other than being crazy about him, not wanting to leave his side, his bed, his line of sight. Marveling at how something, someone so different brought her so much joy.

"Did you ask him after you married?"

"No."

"Why did you really leave your husband?"

Michonne stood, becoming restless as the questions made her angrier. "I didn't…" but she did. She left her husband. She had her reasons, but at the end of the day, she did what Denise said — she left her husband.

"I have to go," Michonne said. "I have to…" she had to get away. She needed to breathe. Get out of her head. Kick Denise out of her head.

Denise stood. "Can you spend some time thinking about why you felt you weren't the woman Rick wanted?"

"I'd like to not think about it for once," she muttered as she headed for the door.

Before she closed the door behind her, she heard Denise say something about it being a good session, but she felt anything but good about it.

* * *

"I spent so much time trying to be larger than life for Michonne," Rick said. "All I wanted was for her to be mesmerized by me." He rolled his eyes at his ego, or maybe it was his neediness. "But eventually it changed. She no longer looked at me like I was some superhero."

"Why did you need for your wife to look at you that way?"

"Because if I were anything less…"

"You wouldn't be good enough?"

They had only been at this one-on-one session for ten minutes, and already he wanted to get the hell out of there. After all this, all the insecurities and admissions, he wasn't sure how he could face Denise again. He hoped his honesty wouldn't make that impossible. He hated someone knowing his business, and now she was learning his most inner thoughts. The things that hurt him, embarrassed, dropped him to his knees.

This wasn't something he was comfortable doing, but he needed to make things right for his family — for all three of them. And as antiquated as Michonne thought his views on gender roles was, he was the man and he had to make things right for his family.

"We were just different people from different worlds. I had never been with someone outside of the world I knew."

"Did Michonne and your family get along?"

"Yes, my parents liked her." Well, his father liked her but didn't think she was the right fit for him. He didn't believe Michonne could or would be the wife Rick wanted and needed. In fact, he said he'd give Michonne two years before she left him for something more.

"Did she attend gatherings with your family?"

"Some. She worked a lot." Sometimes he thought she worked so she wouldn't have to show up.

"When she was there, how was the interaction?"

"Fine. I mean, they were always cordial. There weren't any fights." Not fighting didn't mean everything was okay. He knew that firsthand. He and Michonne were at their worst when they weren't fighting, when they weren't even speaking.

"What about your friends? How did she get along with them?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"I had a friend, my best friend, who didn't think I should have married Michonne." He looked at her. That was something he never told Michonne, and he didn't want her to know at all, but if she did, he didn't want her hearing it from someone else.

"Don't worry. What you say here is between us." When he didn't object, she continued. "Why did your friend think it was a bad idea to marry Michonne?"

"He didn't dislike her or anything. He just didn't think we had anything in common and that once the sex was boring, it would run its course."

He remembered the crassness with which Shane questioned him about sex with Michonne. At first it was the usual locker room talk, but it quickly changed. Shane wanted to know what it was like. What they did. How wild was she? Was she a screamer? How she great was the oral? When he agreed to therapy, he never imagined he'd talk about sex.

"Did it?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"I wasn't talking about the sex."

"Neither was I." He shifted on the couch. "Why are we talking about my family and my friends? I thought this was about my marriage."

"Outside factors often play a large role in relationships, especially marriages. Did Michonne and that friend get along?"

"They were…"

"Cordial?" Denise offered.

He looked at her. "Yes, but I could tell she didn't like him."

"What did you do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you make sure she didn't have to be around him?"

No. Shane was always over at the house, preferring the massive flat screen Michonne bought for Rick's sports and Carl's video games, over watching anything at his own home. Besides the TV, Rick's house always had food, and it was clean. When Shane was over, Michonne would start out in the bedroom, but it wouldn't take long before she disappeared — yoga, shopping or working at the coffee shop with Internet access.

He stood up and walked around the room. He had never paid much attention to Denise's home, even though he spent more time than he wanted when Carl was sick. He walked over to the wall and read a diploma on the wall. It was from Colby College.

"That was from the previous occupants," she said.

Funny to call them that when they were the homeowners and not just the latest people squatting to survive. And he wondered where they were. He looked closer at the diploma and read the name. Where was Peter Rouse and why wasn't he wasn't living in his home? Hell, did anyone in this community live here before things changed?

"Where did you go to college?"

"Wright State University. Back in Ohio. I want to go back to something said in our session with Michonne."

He heard her flip the pages in her notebook. "I'm listening," he said, not bothering to look at her. Still inspecting the items on the wall.

"You agreed that there was little room in your life for Michonne."

"Is there a question?"

"Why? Why was there little room for Michonne, your wife, the woman you wanted to share your life with?"

He asked for the question and he got it. "It's not like it was intentional."

"When she first started coming to you with how she was feeling—"

"She said nothing about feeling small and unhappy or like an outsider," he said defensively. "It was all about leaving. It was like going from zero to one hundred. It was like not being told about all the early symptoms of an illness until it became terminal," he said as he turned and looked at her.

She nodded with the slightest smile on her face as she wrote in her notebook.

"What was your life like before you met Michonne?"

"I spent that time focused on Carl. His mother died. He was all I worried about."

"Did you date anyone before meeting Michonne?"

"No."

"So she—"

"The only woman I dated after my wife died." He could see the look on her face. "You think that was a bad idea. That I felt good for the first time in a long time and confused it with thinking I should be married."

Denise shook her head. "I can't say. Only you know what you had and what you felt. But back to you. You told me how you cared about Carl. But what about you? Did you do anything for you? Did you work on you during that time? Did you heal?"

"No." He didn't know what it meant to heal. He was in pain, but he kept getting up each day, taking care of his son, and one day he stopped crying.

"Why did you marry Michonne?"

"What kind of question is that? I loved her."

"We don't marry every person we love."

He did. He married the only two women he ever loved. He wasn't sure what that said about him. He loved being with one woman he loved. He wanted what his parents had, but he wondered if what they had was rare or it wasn't what he thought it had been all those years.

"Why do you want to be with Michonne again?"

"Because I still love her."

"You said it yourself, you loved her when you married her. She loved you too. How will this time be different?"

"How can it not be different? Look around." He waved his arms and turned in a circle. "Look at the world."

She placed the notebook on the table, then placed the pen on top of the notebook. "Are you saying the world showed you what is most important? That the things that came between you in the past no longer matter?"

"Basically," he said. He took inventory of the books on the bookshelves.

"What scares you the most?"

"About what?"

"About reuniting with Michonne."

He took a deep breath. "That if it doesn't work out again it won't be because of her. It'll be because of me. That I would—"

"Fail," Denise said.

"She's a different person since everything happened. Since the world went crazy."

"We've all changed."

He shook his head. "We've all changed, but some people have grown. Michonne has grown. People have become braver, smarter, stronger, more sympathetic, kinder, more aware."

"You believe you haven't grown?"

"She's an even better person than she was before." He shook his head. "I can't say that. I can't say that I've become a better man since the last time she saw me. I've killed so many people it doesn't even affect me. That's not the man a woman can love."

"Michonne isn't any woman. You know that better than anyone. If you will be with someone, I think we've learned you can't enter the relationship not being honest about a fundamental part of who you are."

Who are you, he wondered, and are you compatible with this Michonne? He sat there, losing track of time, as he contemplated those questions.


End file.
